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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625282">Losses Loom Large</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Quarion/pseuds/R_Quarion'>R_Quarion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>L.A. Noire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Assault, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Healing, Hospitals, M/M, Murder, Pining, Post Canon Era, Sadness, Spoilers, more tags to add, the imperfect human condition and all the complexities that come along with it, undiscovered feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:02:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Quarion/pseuds/R_Quarion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The hand of grief claws at the officers of the LAPD.<br/>The terms don't ring well with Stefan.<br/>Man down, KIA, he shivers at the sound of them.<br/>There's more to it all, he knows it.<br/>What he doesn't know, is how Roy is tied up in it all.<br/>What he does know, is that time is more valuable then he first perceived.<br/>Stefan is yet to learn that maybe, just maybe, he's been looking in the wrong places for the beauty in life.<br/>He may just find his heart in the most unlikely of places, aching for the most unlikely of people.</p><p>° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °   ° ° °</p><p>***Major spoilers for the ending of L.A. Noire***</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roy Earle &amp; Jack Kelso, Stefan Bekowsky &amp; Roy Earle, Stefan Bekowsky/Roy Earle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Past the Moat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=L.A.+Noire+Discord+Server">L.A. Noire Discord Server</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
A loss of a friend too young was, in a sense, a slap to the face. A wake up call. The kind where you wish, more than anything, to put the phone down. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just to end the call before the flat-line. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan was sat alone at Cole's funeral. Parallel to him were people Stefan knew he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> console. One, a dame, who had stood from where she sat weeping and screamed at Roy. Stefan hadn't looked, in fact, barely flinched. The sorrow was overwhelming. It crashed over him much like the tides had done to his late friend. </span>
  <span>A funeral for a friend was surreal. A funeral for a friend who was cherished by those who knew them, who was adored by masses, who wasn't truly understood, that was the kind of sorrow that tears one up inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan's brain was screaming the </span>
  <em>
    <span>why's</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why had this happened? Why had he not been there to help? Why was Cole even in those tunnels to begin with? Just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stefan's heart screamed in glass-shattering pitches of desperation for the answers he knew would be buried with Cole. </span>
  <span>There was anger there, somewhere, seething beneath the sadness. Anger at himself, at those too spineless to attend the funeral, at anyone who had let this happen. Stefan couldn't bear to watch the service and spent most of it staring at his clasped hands. His skin sticky with tear drops, the sounds all merging and warping. </span>
  <span>What would he have done differently, he wondered? Was there anything he wished he had told Cole? Anything he wished he hadn't said? For the life of him, all those memories called up short. As if they were fake. Artificial in feeling and hazy in memory. Or maybe, it was his teary eyes that were hazy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time, in itself, was absent of any value.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could remember how he got to the coffin, he was already placing flowers on it. Fearfully, Stefan came up short on words. This was his final goodbye and, hell, he had nothing. What kind of friend did that make him? A piss poor excuse, he scolded himself. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"I wish we had more time." He whispered to polished wood, fingertips trailing the cloth oh-so-lightly. As if he were to hurt Cole further by putting any pressure on it. Stefan kissed his fingertips and pressed it to the surface. Taking a deep breath, looking up to the roof as the tears fell and holding back the sobbing of, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you for everything, partner</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving felt like weightless drifting with the wind. But not the relieved kind of weightless, instead, the kind of weightless that manifested out of hopelessness. Airy, short of all senses, as if his tether to the Earth had been severed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan had started the car engine without realising it. The hums of it woke him up. He knew better than to drive in this state. It only became more apparent when he clenched his hands into fists, slammed the dash and screamed. Windows up to protect the world from his pain. But it was there, ringing in his own ears, tearing his own vocal cords. Cataclysmic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the note trailed off, he felt lightheaded. As if he wanted to pass out. But he was snapped from the state as he heard a yell. An unmistakable kind of yell that Stefan was programmed to react to. He was out of his car and chasing the echo within seconds. Eyes still blurred with tears and sniffing from crying, he rounded the corner to where the fight had to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just, in no way shape or form that Stefan had ever expected it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gentleman that Stefan knew the face of but couldn't quite place a name, had Roy kneeling on the harsh, rocky ground with a swelling eye and bleeding lip. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Roy??" Stefan whispered, looking from him to the man holding him down. Two hats lay upside down on the street along with droplets of Roy's blood. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Oh shit, it's the Pole! Here to join the party--" Roy barely got out before his assailant kicked him in the stomach so hard that Stefan swore he heard the breaking of ribs. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Fuck off if you know what's good for you, detective!" The man met Stefan's eyes and he felt a sudden flash of recognition. Or. Assumed recognition. Jack Kelso, or, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan had heard very little of Jack. Whispers here and there. He knew not much more than he was in Cole's division during the war. Never had he met the man but there he was, beating the living daylights out of the man who had delivered a eulogy at the funeral of a friend. Maybe Jack and Cole hadn't been friends… but that didn't put any of these pieces together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was lucky for Roy that Stefan was carrying. Jack's face flooded over in resentment when Stefan pulled the gun from hiding and pointed it his direction.<br/>
</span>
  <span>"Jack, I'm going to need you to hand yourself over. You've assaulted an officer of the law…" <br/>
</span>
  <span>Jack's nose scrunched up at the suggestion. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"If I were less of a man, I'd spit on your shoes, detective. Or on your buddy here. Thankfully, I was raised right." <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Raised right? Jack, you're beating a detective of the LAPD. On the day of a colleague's funeral!?"<br/>
</span>
  <span>Stefan couldn't bring himself to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It hurt too much. This was not the time to let his guard down, not with Roy in the state he was. L</span>
  <span>ying on the ground, propped up on one arm. The other clutching his ribcage where Jack had kicked him. He was heaving for breath, inhaling sharply and spitting blood into the cracks between stones. Stefan didn't break eye contact with Jack. The both of them unblinking and grieving. Flickering his eyes back to Roy and then to Stefan once more, Jack bit his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're lucky you've got good cops on your side, Earle. I might not have been Cole's enemy, but I'll happily be yours."<br/>
</span>
  <span>Stefan furrowed his brow, lowering his gun. There was more complexity to Cole and Jack than he had once thought.<br/>
</span>
  <span>"Oh such sweet promises, Jack." With a face overshadowed by the beginning of bruising, Roy still smirked as he spoke. Blood spilling over his lower lip, he spat again. "You heard the Pole, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck off</span>
  </em>
  <span>." <br/>
</span>
  <span>"You'd see the face of God and still think you have the upper hand, wouldn't you Roy?" Jack hissed, taking slow steps backwards. "You disgust me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that he turned and walked away. Not hurried in his steps. No panic in his movements. He was not fearing the consequences of what he had done. Stefan watched until he was out of sight and, even then, held his gun with a grip so tight that his knuckles whitened. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"You going to help me?" <br/>
</span>
  <span>Roy's smug tone woke Stefan up from his hypnotised state. Jack was long gone around the corner, he was not sure why he was still staring at the alleyway as if it presented more dangers. Disregarding the immaculate press of his suit pants, he knelt down beside Roy. Knees dug into by stones, he could feel the fabric tear a little at the course surface. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"What happened?" <br/>
</span>
  <span>Stefan trailed his thumb across the forming bruise on Roy's jawline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the first time in a long time that Stefan had seen Roy in such a state. Although, without a doubt, he was still holding his head high. As if he hadn't just been mercilessly beat. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"That fucker, Kelso, I knew he was trouble. I told Biggs to tell him to fuck off. That he's not welcome here…" <br/>
</span>
  <span>Roy spat again, ducking his head out the way so the blood clotted spit didn't hit Stefan. "Christ, he's got a hell of a kick…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan's brow furrowed. Looking down at Roy who was in too much pain to move far and then back up to the alley as if he expected Jack to come back around. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Ya scared him off, Pole. He's gone."<br/>
</span>
  <span>Roy sniffed, grimacing at the state of his hands. Trodden on and kicked, the road had torn through Roy's skin like a grater. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Can I have a look? At your ribs? They might be damaged…"<br/>
</span>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Might be?</span>
  </em>
  <span> This is why they keep you around? So perceptive." Roy scoffed, trying to keep the smug look on his face. When the pain shattered the facade, he was quick to wince in pain and rebuild the walls of his fort. No one climbed those walls. To his memory, Phelps was the only one who had gotten past the moat. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Let me patch you up then?" Stefan frowned, standing back up and offering out his hand, "I've got medical supplies at my apartment…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy's piercing blue eyes lingered over Stefan's open palm. For a second, just a split second, he looked as if he were going to take it. Instead, Roy slapped his hand away, disregarding the help up. But Stefan could see the pain in his face, keeling over as he clutched at his ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Earle." Stefan put it bluntly, getting short tempered with the Vice Detective. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"Ooo I like how that sounds, Pole. You get all the dames that way?" <br/>
</span>
  <span>"You'd hardly be a dame, Earle, more like a broad." Stefan spat back, teeth clenched in annoyance. Roy stopped in his path to look Stefan in the eye. Contact held for a minute or so, searching each other as if to scrutinize. <br/>
</span>
  <span>"I like your bite, I'll give you that…" Roy gave him a look over, "and if you insist, if it'll make you feel better, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span><br/>

  <span>The tone suggested a sliver of helplessness between attempts at masking the vulnerability. Stefan had his pride but he had a heart that ached to help people. Even if that meant putting that pride aside.<br/>
</span>
  <span>"Consider me insisting."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Scotch and Blood Clots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefan does his best impression of a medic.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>° ° °</p><p> </p><p>"Nice place, Stefan. Tell me. How does such a young man acquire this kind of apartment?" Despite the swelling of his bottom lip, Roy seemed intent on talking. "You have your own kind of currency going on? A <em> private </em> deal, if you will?"<br/>"You know, you should probably not be irritating me while I'm holding most of your weight…" <br/>Roy had his arm slung over Stefan's shoulders, a palm lightly outstretched over Roy's chest to guide him. He huffed a laugh,<br/>"Most people would be grateful to be under my weight." Roy teased, although lord help him Stefan worried he'd been hit too hard to the head. <br/>"You're just full of shitty one liners and pick up lines, aren't you?"<br/>"Just as much as you are full of work experience and inability to get a promotion." The quip was fast and harsher than Stefan had expected Roy to be. <br/>"Sit here. Wait." Stefan practically dropped his fellow detective on the couch edge and left to find the supplies. Smirking to himself at the pained groan Roy let out, yelling out as he disappeared into the apartment's bathroom, "that's instant karma, Roy!"</p><p>Roy frowned at the ceiling, unable to move anywhere else to get a different view. His ribs ached in a way that rippled pain up his side's and through his limbs. Like the rush of a heat before a fire. Moving wasn't his first priority. Besides, he could feel his limbs falling limp under the soft fabric of the couch. <br/>"The fuck--" he exclaimed as something landed on his abdomen, thankfully, not where the pain was originating from. The feeling was a soft push up and down on his stomach, moving his head up to see only gave him more questions.  Kneading on his lower abdomen was a kitten. A small tuxedo cat with eyes similar to Roy's in colour. Blue, vivid.<br/>"Hey Stefan, could I get some help?"<br/>Roy met the kitten in the eyes and frowned at it. Tilting its head and sitting very politely where his hip bone jutted out slightly, its tail wrapped around it's paws. <br/>"I thought you were <em> here </em> for my help?" Stefan yelled back, "I can't find the---"<br/>There was a loud clattering sound from the hallway and, in sync,  Roy and the cat's heads turned to look at its origin. "Found it!"<br/>Frowning with his attention back on the small creature, he made a displeased sound,<br/>"You have a cat?" </p><p>Stefan had taken half a step into the room and practically sprinted. Discarding his medical case on the desk, he grabbed the cat off of Roy. <br/>"Mieczysław. Psst! Bad." He gave the cat a pat on the head before placing it down on the rug. "Sorry, Roy, she's not used to strangers. She is curious."<br/>"Hey well curiosity killed the--" Roy couldn't finish the phrase before Stefan's glare cut him off. "Woah, okay, don't joke about the cat. Message received." <br/>“Take your jacket off… I’ll clean the cuts---” <br/>“Oooh Bekowsky at least buy me dinner first--” <br/>“---on your face and then we’ll look at the rest.” Stefan spoke over him, rolling his eyes at the quip.</p><p>Stefan moved over to the table, sorting through odds and ends of what was in the bag. The kitten followed Stefan's lead with an adorable trot that made Roy more irritated than reasonably possible. <br/>"She's not used to strangers?" Roy asked as she slowly pawed up to Roy's knee, licked it, and moved on. She turned her head to Stefan who had stood and walked elsewhere, "Took you for a social man, not even mid twenties, you should be bedding broads and painting the town red!" <br/>Rolling his eyes at Roy's direction, it had taken the man a bit too long to figure out the pole was pouring drinks for them. In fact, it took until Stefan was handing it over that Roy managed to put two and two together. <br/>"Oh, Stefan, to what do I owe the pleasure?" The vice detective smirked, smelling the liquor before drinking it. Much to his surprise, Stefan's taste in alcohol was much like his own. Strong, sudden and soothing the pain in his body. <br/>"Hoping it'll shut you up." Stefan murmured into the glass. </p><p>Stefan looked up to Roy. A simple glance was all it should have been. Seconds ticked by and Stefan found himself staring into Roy's eyes as if they had the meaning of life buried within them. Not the meaning, no, more like the distraction he was after. <br/>"What?" Roy drawled with that smug tone that made Stefan shiver sometimes. The smirk was no better, only making Stefan duck his head. <br/>"Jack kicked the shit out of you." <br/>Roy huffed a laugh, taking a sip of the drink that was held lazily in his hand. Stefan watched as Roy pressed the pad of his thumb into the bruises. Eyelids shutting, head tilting back slightly and letting out a groan. Swallowing harshly, Stefan got up from where he stood and did his best to find ice. Wrapping it in a cloth, he pressed it to the growing bruise on Roy's cheek. <br/>"Hold that there, please, while I clean your lip..."<br/>The split in the skin wasn't huge and Roy should have been grateful for it. Stefan never knew how Roy was really feeling, beneath the cocky attitude and his ego. </p><p>"Do you think I could sue Jack?" Roy said after a long time of nothing. <br/>"For assault with intent to harm?" Stefan's eyes didn't move. He was fixated on cleaning stone fragments from the flesh wounds. <br/>"No. Property damage…" Roy smirked and Stefan was almost afraid to ask,<br/>"For..?"<br/>"Look at this suit! It's got blood on it now. It was a nice suit and it is covered in blood stains…” <br/>Stefan laughed. It was no scoff or dismissive chuckle, it was a <em> real </em> laugh. The kind of laugh where eyes would crinkle at their edges and teeth revealed themselves. <br/>“What’s so funny, Pole?” Roy was smiling too, cocking his head as Stefan nearly snorted. Dipping the cloth in water and ringing it out, Stefan looked up to the ceiling with a smile still on his face and the laugh lingering on his lips, “what?!” <br/>“You just…” Stefan coughed slightly as he regained his breath, discarding his hat on the floor beside where he knelt at the couch. It took a fraction of a second for the kitten to hop into the fedora and curl up, “I’d just like to know what it’s like in your head, Roy… for just <em> five </em> minutes. Only, and this is a big only, <em> only </em> if I can recover from the trauma of it.” The words were stopped by faint chuckling. <br/>“Oh it isn’t too bad up here.” He tapped on his forehead, wincing as if he had forgotten the state he was in. Stefan shot him a concerned look, “stop with those eyes, Stefan. Be more worried about your couch.”</p><p>Truth be told, he hadn’t even <em> noticed </em> the couch. It was an old thing, his sister’s, a shade of beige that fit in with the carpet almost too well. Where he had been cleaning the wounds across Roy’s jaw, renegade droplets had fallen. Water spots tinted with blood covered the fabric near where Roy’s hand was holding himself up.<br/>“Don’t mind the couch…” Materialism had never meant much to Stefan, <br/>“Hmm, now I want to know what’s going through your mind?! No respect for your property…” Roy would have exclaimed had he not been beaten, Stefan gave him a look that said <em> really </em>? and brushed the final flecks of crimson from his jaw. “Tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll tell you a little about what’s going on in my head. It’s a fair deal.”</p><p>Stefan <em> could </em> be honest. That really, the only thing stopping him from drinking himself into a stupor was that he had Roy to pay attention to. That, if he had not have found Roy being beaten that the stains on his couch would not be from treating wounds but alcohol that would leave the furniture in a worse state. That, without a doubt, he knew he would be close to black-out drunk with Mieczysław curled up in his arms. That he would press his face into her fur and listen to her heartbeat as if it were the only thing that mattered anymore. Cole was dead and--- <br/>“Fine.” He snapped himself out of it, “I’m thinking that you seem to be the most calculated man in the LAPD and you just got your ass handed to you. Now, fair is fair, what are you thinking about?” <br/>"Sure you want to know..?" Roy hummed, catching Stefan off guard, “can’t promise a recovery.” <br/><em> “Fair is fair.” </em> Stefan didn’t expect an answer, after all he was distracted by the button up shirt that had dried into a wound. Screwing his face up at the predicament, he edged the shirt away from the wound. Roy’s brow furrowed and teeth gritted. The wound had both their attention so it caught Stefan off guard when Roy spoke and, in a tone smoother than sunset on calm water he hummed,<br/>"I’m thinking that you're more than just a pretty face... aren’t you?"</p><p>Curse to hell the heat that went to the tips of his ears, Stefan jumped slightly as his kitten tried to jump out of his hat but missed the distance and went rolling.<br/>“Aw.” Roy cooed, “she’s an idiot. Must take after her owner.”<br/>"Are you going to tell me what the fight was about?" Stefan lent forward, catching the edge of the wound with the cloth and dragging it across slowly. "Or are you going to keep being annoying?"<br/>"Mhmm, the latter probably." His growing smirk only widened the split. "You're an odd one, ya know?"<br/>Stefan, screwing his face up in confusion, gestures his hands in a shrug. <br/>"Wh--"<br/>"Take me back to your place to patch me up. Any normal man would drop me at the nearest bastard with a bandaid and be done with it."<br/>It was true. Such interactions were rarer than normal and so Roy was right in his remark. Stefan bent down to pick up the cat from where she was nuzzling her nose against the end of his trousers. <br/>"I know your reputation, Roy." Stefan scratched the cats jaw and her eyes shut, purring softly in his hand. "For not dealing with things. Throwing some shots back and moving on. But I…" this was getting hard and Stefan was backing out of the truth of his statement as soon as he dipped his toe into it, "...I won't rest well knowing you're at some bar drowning your sorrows in scotch and blood clots."</p><p>They didn’t speak much past that. The occasional comment here and there as Stefan made his way across the wounds on Roy’s chest. Most were bruises and, luckily, none seemed broken. It would take some time to tell, however, and Stefan was not going to call a taxi for the man. Besides, in the morning Stefan wanted to be sure Roy took care of himself. That was easier under his watch. </p><p>No words were spoken about Cole. Not when Stefan offered Roy his bed for the night and he took it with only smart ass remarks. Not when Stefan put a glass of water on the bedside table and drew the blinds. Not when he wished Roy a good night’s rest before curling up on the couch with the kitten kneading softly at his thigh. Cole was only to enter his thoughts once his eyelids hung heavy and the world slipped away into the depths of unconsciousness.</p><p> </p><p>° ° °</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bleeding Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A deep and meaningful in the early hours of the morning. <br/>Only, both men have their feelings bottled away. <br/>Neither are very good at reading between the lines.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Your bet that Shelton did this?” Stefan sat back, his eyes bloodshot and stinging. Blowing cigar smoke out the window into the early morning hours. Of course Cole didn’t reply. It was almost as if time had passed by in a blink for him. Just as alert, just as vigilant, just as watchful as ever. 4am they had pulled up and the clock was only just ticking past 5am. An hour that had felt endless.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t do bets, Bekowsky. Not until I know all the odds.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Stefan raised his eyes at the comment, disheartened but not smug,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Whatever you say kid. I know your type… immaculate. Stickler for details, by the book and yet seem to co-author it. Bet you have a gorgeous house. Front lawn that shimmers in morning dew and flowers that just brighten the path…”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Why didn’t you take up poetry?” Cole bit, his tone short with his partner.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Why did you take up silver suppositories? See, I can be funny too asshat.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cole, taking a few seconds to piece together what Stefan had said, eventually screwed up his face,<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>"Did you just suggest---"<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>"That there's a spoon up your ass? Yeah." <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Of course Stefan’s temper was a little short. He was tired and stuck with a partner that, without a doubt, would pass him in promotions with ease. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“You know, Bekowsky, that I am here to learn and serve. Not to get into petty fights with my partner.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Silence fell over their car, Stefan’s fingers sliding through the gap in the window just to feel the fresh air. There was a chill on the breeze and a scent of wood fires. L. A. could be beautiful, he was irritated that his mood was spoiling such a fine night.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Why do you call me kid?” Cole asked, looking over briefly before looking back at the apartment complex. Figures. Not one to be distracted for too long. "I’m older than you, after all.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“New in Traffic though. My experience outweighs your age…”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Pressing his lips together, Cole nodded a little. Not agreement, no, more so consideration.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d like to learn from that experience, Bekowsky. Can we make an agreement to keep silver suppositories out of our colloquialisms?”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Uh, yeah, you’re going to have to explain what that last word means.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Cole laughed and Stefan couldn’t look away from it. It was hypnotic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan shot up in suddenness. Muscles ached from his position on the couch, neck screaming for blood flow. His heart rate and breathing were erratic as he sat himself up properly, grimacing at the realisation that he was covered in a sheen layer of sweat. His movements had given the kitten a fright as she had thrown herself to the carpet at such urgency. A nightmare, Stefan scolded himself, as if he were a child. But the thoughts of Cole came flooding back to him and before he knew it, he was crying into the palms of his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mieczysław ran into the room as if the world was collapsing around her. It wasn't far fetched, with Stefan in tears she would always come to the rescue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rescue</span>
  </em>
  <span>; a word that to her meant purr-a-lot. Time slipped into a rhythm of motion and less so the ticking of a clock. Stefan's palm, albeit sticky with tears, gently petting the tiny cat curled up next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silvery moonlight dancing in the draft of the apartment window. Curtains swaying to and fro. There were still noises outside. Did the streets of L.A. ever really sleep, he wondered? Would the winds be as beautiful as they had been the night at Shelton’s? He would not know the answer. Reaching over to where his radio sat covered in a thin layer of dust, he switched it on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We three, we'll wait for you… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even 'til eternity...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My echo, my shadow and me...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any more screeching tyres and he'd have an urge to go and berate the drivers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Life is precious</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he would scream at them, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don't waste it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Although maybe, for them, the thrill of a roaring engine made life worth living. <br/></span>
  <span>"Bekowsky?"<br/></span>
  <span>The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. For a good while he had forgotten Roy was staying the night. He was resting against the doorframe, most of his weight on the old paint job. Arms crossed but in a strange way. <br/></span>
  <span>"Your ribs… how are they feeling?"<br/></span>
  <span>Roy frowned instantly. <br/></span>
  <span>"I come into a room where you're crying and you ask how I am? Gee, really did get the detective with a bleeding heart, huh…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan had no quips. No smart comment, not even the energy to roll his eyes. He was tired, his eyes stung and he wanted to be asleep. But then the thoughts of Cole returned and he pushed it away. Stefan scolded himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shouldn’t have snapped at him, shouldn’t have been so harsh, should have been kinder, should have cherished the time--<br/></span>
  </em>
  <span>"I can still hear his voice sometimes…”<br/></span>
  <span>Roy’s eyes immediately looked elsewhere, his face much graver then it had been a few seconds prior. It was clear he was trying to hide it. He didn’t say anything, but trailed his hands over the wallpaper.<br/></span>
  <span>“He had such strange ways of talking..." Stefan finished the thought. <br/></span>
  <span>"Next you'll describe his eyes to me…" There was little emotion in Roy’s voice and he moved to the window, sitting on the windowsill and looking out into the night.<br/></span>
  <span>"Soul piercing, not in a bad way either." Stefan huffed, "I ain't the department's poet, that's detective Leville."<br/></span>
  <span>"Perhaps… Do you want a smoke?"<br/></span>
  <span>Stefan shook his head, looking at the clock. <br/></span>
  <span>"It's three in the morning, Roy." He scoffed, watching Roy take one from Stefan’s packet on the cabinet. Stefan let him, they’d both had a rough week. As far as Stefan was concerned, Roy deserved a smoke.<br/></span>
  <span>"So? I'm getting a start on the day." He lit the one hanging between his lips and blew the smoke through the open window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange seeing Roy in such a way. White shirt untucked from his trousers, his socks were a pink colour, much like the shade on his regular jacket. Swelling black eye and a smile that </span>
  <em>
    <span>refused </span>
  </em>
  <span>to quit. There was sadness in him, somewhere, behind the smoke. A part of Stefan wanted to reach out to the man, battered and bruised on his window sill. But all he felt in his heart was his own grief. As much as he hated the feeling of it, it ached with no remorse. If Roy were to share his pain, that was his choice, until then Stefan was none the wiser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft meow woke Stefan from his thoughts as Mieczysław hopped up stretched.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Can’t believe you have a fucking cat.” Roy said almost too quickly, looking back out the window. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“There’s been stranger things.” Stefan cocked his head. It took him a few moments too many to realise his eyes were straying. They’d started at Roy’s hands. Long, slender fingers holding the smoke with ease. Fingers that would have pulled triggers and thrown punches. Vicious but now, somehow, elegant. Moving up to Roy’s wrist, bare, but would usually show a watch. Expensive, much too, but he would not flaunt it. It spoke for itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The white undershirt was a spare of Stefan’s. He must have been a size smaller than the Pole because it hung a little too loose. Roy’s upper arms were grazed over in dark crimson scabs. There was muscle beneath the wounds but the red was the first notice. Roy’s pale skin dipped into shades of purple and blue where knuckles had caught skin. They hurt to look at and Stefan wondered how long it had taken Jack to start throwing punches. He’d landed many in the small time it had taken Stefan to stop the fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only once the cat jumped onto Roy’s lap and he jumped that Stefan zoned back in.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Miecz--” He was about to tell the cat to get down when Roy interrupted,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“She’s fine, leave her.” The frown on his face spoke otherwise. She kneaded at his legs for a bit before curling up. Roy didn’t pat her, he was clearly distracted. Much too absorbed in his own thoughts. His expression, grimaced and uncomfortable, confused Stefan for the few silent seconds it took for him to find the words,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Phelps spoke fondly of you.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that ache.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Maybe Roy was right, maybe Stefan did have a bleeding heart. It felt as such.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He would…” Roy stifled a cough, clearing his throat slightly. He took a sharp breath and said the rest of the sentence quickly with no emotion, “...he would want you to keep working. Be the detective he always knew you were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes were distracting for the both of them. In Roy’s, Stefan saw something he had never seen in anyone’s eyes before. The obscure pain of lachesism. Raw and yet, too perplexing for Stefan to figure out. In Stefan’s, Roy saw loss and regret. Roy didn’t do emotional speeches but, the second he had seen the regret in Stefan’s eyes, he had to say something. Stefan should not have regretted any of it and Roy, against his better judgement, wanted to be sure of it. He put out the cigarette and pressed his lips together firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night Pole. See you bright and early. L. A. rests for no one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Iridescent Pastels and Unintelligible Enigmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The return to work for both our detectives...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>° ° °</p><p> </p><p>Stefan slept very little that night. His thoughts were torrential and loud, like rain on a tin roof during a storm. Overwhelming in his own head and so he spent the night on the couch with his hands clasped over his ears as if that would stop it all. Unfortunately for him he had no such luck. At the rise of the sun, Stefan was up making coffee. If he couldn’t rest then damned it to hell, he would be sure he was awake and productive.</p><p>The thoughts snuck in among the chaos while he was slicing bread for a poor excuse of a breakfast. <em> Why is it fair that you get to wake up? Cole can’t. That’s not fair. You just get to live on and he--- </em> he jumped at the stinging of his hand. The knife’s blade had caught his thumb and torn the skin enough for blood to erupt from the wound. Hissing in irritance Stefan clasped at it and darted to the table where the supplies from the night earlier still lay. Pressing a cotton ball against the injury, Stefan looked over the wrist of his white shirt and cursed under his breath at the blood stains on the fabric.<br/>"Bekowsky?" He jumped, <em> again </em>. Turning around to see Roy behind him. </p><p>"Christ alive!" He hissed, finger slipping and digging at the wound by mistake. “Twice. <em> Twice </em> . You’ve made me jump in my own home.” <br/>“Apartment.” Roy corrected, snidely. <br/>“Sure. Whatever.” Stefan looked back to the slit on his thumb. <br/>“What did you do?” His eyes glanced down to where crimson had leaked into his shirt’s fabric. <br/>“Nothing. Just. Make yourself a coffee or something.” <br/>“Don’t snap your cap, just…” Roy made his way over and took Stefan’s hand in his own. He was slow and patient, even when Stefan held his hand further away at first in hesitance. “Let me repay the patch up.” <br/>“Not exactly a repay…” Stefan reminded him, looking over the bruises on Roy. They were much deeper in colour than the night before. God knew what he looked like beneath the undershirt. Artwork, maybe, a gradient of many shades. </p><p>Part of Stefan had wondered how Roy could even see properly. One eye was swollen over, blacked out and puffy. He was lucky not to have lost his sight. Yet he was lightly brushing the wound with the cotton swab and moving with preciseness to put a bandage on it. <br/>“Brand new, ta-da.” The smile on his face was uncharacteristic but welcomed. <br/>“Thanks.” Stefan grumbled before taking a breath to recompose himself, “do you want breakfast?” <br/>Roy pulled a smoke out of his packet and gestured to it, <br/>“Already on it.” The little waggle of his eyebrows made Stefan frown even more. <br/>“You are the bane of my existence.” <br/>“I don’t do breakfast, I’ll grab a coffee on the way.” <br/>“Nonsense you absolute psycho… I’ll fix you something.” They exchanged a look with a few moments of silence between them before Roy sighed, <br/>“If you say so, daddy-o. I’ll get dressed...”<br/>“Your suit will still be wet from the wash. Just, borrow one of mine.” <br/>The disdain on Roy’s face nearly made Stefan chuckle.</p><p>It took Roy longer to find something to wear then it had for Stefan to make breakfast and coffee. Sure, Stefan’s suits didn’t have large price tags but they were nice. Good quality, beautiful material and patterns he felt confident in. Roy emerged in deep maroon trousers and a deep grey suit jacket lined with thin stripes of the same red shade. He’d picked one of Stefan’s favourite ties. Iridescent pastel colours of blues, reds and yellows overlaid with silky white swirls.<br/>“Very handsome, you have a wonderful taste in fashion… tell me, where do you shop?” Stefan smirked, handing the coffee over to Roy who only grumbled his reply into the mug. <br/>“The dumpster, apparently.” Stefan sharply smacked his shoulder and the coffee splashed onto Roy’s lower jaw. “You shitheel!”<br/>“Shut up and eat.”</p><p>Roy did, with only a mild amount of complaining. Not a mention of Cole, nor the funeral, nor Jack. All just quips, complaints and teasing, He did thank Stefan for it, in his own ungrateful way. Stefan knew better than that, there was gratitude there somewhere.<br/>“You <em> are </em> going to work today, aren’t you?” Roy asked almost with a tone of suspicion. <br/>“Yes.” <br/>“Good man…” <br/>“I’ll call you a cab, if you need?” <br/>“Nah.” Roy blew smoke toward the window where the kitten was curled up and basking in the early morning light. “Was planning on teleporting there.” <br/>“Smart ass.” Stefan rolled his eyes as he shrugged his jacket over his shoulders. It was cold and ruthless in sending shivers down his spine. <br/>“You mean great ass, thank you very much.” <br/>Stefan placed a soft kiss on Mieczysław’s forehead as he put his hat on and gestured Roy out the door. <br/>“You behave, lil thing. I’ll be back soon.” <br/>“Aw, he talks to his cat. Does she talk back? Do we need to visit a doctor, Stefan?” <br/>Mieczysław stirred for a moment to give a half-hearted hiss at Roy. Locking the door behind them, Stefan chuckled lightly to himself. Roy handed Stefan a smoke as he waved down a ride. The quiet between them was only slightly uncomfortable. There was so much to say and, by the time the car pulled up, no time to say it. <br/>“Have a good day Stefan…” Roy pressed his lips together as he put a foot into the car. Freezing before he could get into the cab, he looked over his shoulder. “If you need anything, give me a ring. None of that crying sissy shit on your own, Polack.” With that, he was gone.</p><p>Stefan could not describe the feelings pulsing through his veins as he watched the tail lights fade away into the dreary distance. Nor could he recall the walk to the station.</p><p>Curse to hell the notes that Leville had left on the case before it had been reassigned to Stefan and Rusty. Part of him had hoped that the case would be a simple solve when it was assigned to them four days ago. Something to complete and move on from, something which would hopefully take everything else with it. But, hell, Leville had a tough one. Stefan understood why they had taken the detective off the case, personal circumstances, he just didn’t know why it had been reassigned to him. Thankfully, there had been a timeline constructed by Leville. Unfortunately, it was jotted with obscure notes and puzzling information that made Stefan wonder what could the detective possibly have been considering.</p><p>Stefan was in the process of note transferring. Of course he could always get one of the desk ladies to do it, they would with a smile. But this was a personal change and Stefan wouldn’t burden them with it. Well, <em> not all of it. </em>He had already given a few reports to Marisol who would always elaborate on them with perfect clarity. She was a blessing to the homicide office but even her friendship with Leville wouldn’t be able to understand some of the notes he had written. Less so because of what they said and more so because it was unintelligible.</p><p><b>08/28/47 </b> <b><br/></b> <b>21:29</b></p><p><b>904B possible 1080, Hewitt St</b> <b><br/></b> <b>First on scene: Arson Detective Tilden</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Two casualties, ID Craig Peent and Thomas Wilkes</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Explosion assumed cause of death</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Autopsy found evidence of foul play</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Case handed to Homicide Detective Leville</b></p><p>
  <b>08/30/47</b>
</p><p><b>Leville files requests for prints on shrapnel (interested in metal damage)</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Murder weapon is yet to be discovered</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Wilkes: mutilated by explosion</b> <b><br/></b> <b>-(appears to be a bomb of sorts (homemade/sent deliberately to Peent and Wilkes))</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Peent: death by stabbing</b> <b><br/></b> <b>-(wounds appear to be deep but small, possibly by screw driver)</b></p><p><b>09/07/47</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Suspects ruled out with solid alibis </b> <b><br/></b> <b>Bartender from Mocambo puts forward a statement claiming Peent and Wilkes were regulars</b> <b><br/></b> <b>+they were said to often meet with strangers in Mocambo</b></p><p><b>09/12/47</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Results back on metal damage prints</b> <b><br/></b> <b>All seem to be very similar… this theory might play out.</b></p><p>Leville’s searching for these strangers from meet ups quickly ran into a deadend when the case was taken from him on the 27th and was passed to Stefan and Rusty. <br/>“Hey, Marisol?” Stefan lent back in his chair so he could see the dame. With a welcoming smile she looked up from her work. Sticking the paper up in the air he called out, “do you happen to have any clue what Leville was checking for with these metal prints?” <br/>The smile out of the question was enough to say no. She shook her head with a chuckle, <br/>“Unfortunately not. Eddy is an enigma of a man…” <br/>Stefan winked at her even if it hadn’t helped. <br/>“Thank you anyway.”</p><p>Leville was a peculiar man without much doubt, but an enigma? Somewhat. There was one other detective who came to mind at the word. Stefan didn’t dare admit to himself that the thought was lingering even before he spoke to marisol. <em> Roy </em> . He wondered what the day could possibly be like for the battered and bruised Vice detective. Roy really was an enigma. Although, in analysing the request for metal prints Stefan did decide that Leville wasn’t far from. Stefan sighed at the papers before him and bit his lip. <br/>“Something on your mind, Detective?” Marisol woke him from his dead stare into the words. How could he phrase the thunderstorm raining hell in his mind? How could he answer such a question, the answer was not nearly as simple. <br/>“Everything and nothing.” He admitted with a light laugh, <br/>“Anyway I can help?” She smiled at him. <br/>“If you see Leville, please, tell him to find me as soon as possible to describe this nonsense to me…” The Pole was dazed by it all. <br/>“Shall do.” </p><p>The tapping of her heels as she left helped the detective in zoning back in. Just like Roy had said, L.A. rests for no one. Neither would Stefan, he had work to do. When the phone rang out and Stefan was called over to pick it up, the news of an ID match helped him feel as if he could settle back into work. With some time, perhaps, it could feel like home again. </p><p> </p><p>° ° °</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Answers in Immediate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefan returns to work as normal, with the Wilkes Peent case in full force, he finds a P.O.I who may just be their catalyst.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Leville.” Stefan called out as he saw the detective walking down the stairs, “Eddy, wait up!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The older man stopped, turned to face Stefan hopping down the stairs, sipping at his coffee.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“How can I help, Bekowsky?” It was always work with Leville.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Just got a call from one Rhys Barrett, says he’s a bartender at The Mocambo Club and would see both Peent and Wilkes somewhat regularly… says he saw the report in the paper and recognised them.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Leville’s face washed over in disbelief,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And he called up? Hell… maybe there’s some decent citizens out there. Okay, we just need to know if  they had anyone who would want to send them a bomb.” His eyebrows shot up as he spoke, blinking rapidly as a tremor ran through his shoulder. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah, that tends to be my favourite pastime.” Stefan smiled as Leville chuckled lightly, “and </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> can I run those metal prints past you at some point?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes. Of course. Where is Galloway?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Unwell.” Stefan clapped the binder shut, “flu, I believe. Haven’t seen him since…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>the funeral</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though Stefan couldn’t bring himself to say it. Leville’s expression told him that he understood and he reached his hands out to softly squeeze at Stefan’s upper arm.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Whatever you need, Stefan. I’m here.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thanks Leville. I’ll let you get back to it. I’m going to pay Barrett a visit…”<br/></span>
  <span>Leville’s eyes widened,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh my days, do I wish I could be there. Raise hell in my name, yeah?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan nodded, grinning, and watched as Leville disappeared down the stairs. Stefan stood there for a while, quiet and contemplating. He eventually snapped back into it and made his way to his car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective Bekowsky, Homicide.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You got my call, brilliant.” A young bartender spoke up from behind the gentleman that Stefan had approached.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What is this about?” His arm shot out to catch the man,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s alright, Handley, no need to worry.” The man whispered back, “see that table in the corner, take some water over, okay?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Glaring between the bartender and Bekowsky, Handley huffed and pushed his way past.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sorry about him, he frets…” The man was running a cloth along the rim of a glass. Piercing blue eyes and a welcoming smile, Bekowsky was a little thankful that he wasn’t dealing with Handley.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Rhys Barrett, I assume?” He pulled his notebook from his inner jacket pocket.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Indeed. Once I saw the photo in the paper, I knew I had to call. Craig Peent and Tommy Wilkes used to come in here all the time. Met with different people, God knows what for. But that gentleman over there, in the corner, he was the most recent. Seemed to have a disagreement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan looked over his shoulder to the man. A smoke in one hand, a drink in the other and bags under his eyes that screamed for sleep. He looked a little too thin beneath the old suit but he was a thought for a few minutes time.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What can you tell me about them? Craig and Tommy? What were they like together?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well…” Rhys offered a drink but Stefan politely declined, settling his hands on the bar he shifted his weight onto the bench, “they seemed out of place. At first it was just Craig at these meetings, then eventually Tommy showed up too. Tommy was much less talkative, sort of just sat and stared. Craig was the talker, he was always very good at convincing people, telling them what they wanted.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Any idea why these meetings were held here?” Stefan scribbled some notes down in his book. Firstly, it seemed that their dynamic had not been a friendship. Instead that, maybe, Tommy had been a bodyguard of sorts.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lots of people have business meetings here… look around, what better place to impress a client?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan didn’t doubt Rhys, the expression on his face was honest. Besides, the bar was beautiful. It made sense that he hadn’t followed Peent and Wilkes up, hindsight was a blessing. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And the gentleman I am about to speak to?” Stefan furrowed his brow,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“If you’re asking me if I believe he did it? No, no way. Man can barely tie his shoes nevermind build and mail a bomb. An alcoholic, I pity the man, give him free drinks sometimes… diluted a little, otherwise he’ll just keep going… but, if anyone knows what the meetings were about, it’s him.” Truthful once again, Stefan shot him a thankful smile.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“This has been very helpful, thank you.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Happy to help, officer. Oh, and, Handley usually did the shift swap with me around the time they would arrive… he would have seen more than me, though I don’t think he’s heard the news yet.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan nodded, closing his book and winking as he made his way over to the gentleman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The club truly was a sight. Red velvet carpet and rings of warm lamps, both beige and red in colour. Men and women milled around, sat at booths and leant against the bar. A distinct hum of chatter in front of soft jazz with a distinct scent of tobacco in the air. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Evening, Sir. LAPD, Detective Bekowsky, Homicide, might I have a word?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The man looked up at him through squinted eyes. His skin was loose and sickly in shade, bloodshot eyes peered at Stefan up and down.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sure. If you must…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan was not a fan of the tone he had taken, this was already starting off poorly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Your name?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Eugene Porter.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thank you, Eugene… I’ve been told you met with both Craig Peent and Tommy Wilkes here recently, had a bad interaction with them?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The man stared at the bottom of his glass and didn’t look up to him. Even when he spoke, it was to the bottom of his drink.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah. Sure did.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Might I ask why?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There was a pause, his hazel eyes flickering to the bar and then eventually to Bekowsky. Though they didn’t stay there for any longer than a split second.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He promised me a job. I had just lost mine and Tommy wanted to hire…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan furrowed his brow as he looked over his notes. Immediate contradictions in the story. Rhys had described Wilkes as intimidating and not talking.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That’s a lie, Eugene. Tell me why you were really meeting them or I’ll have Rhys over there vouch for your dislike of them.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I can’t say.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You can and you will.” Stefan hissed at the man who seemed to be close to snapping at the detective.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I can’t.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It doesn’t look good Eugene. Last to meet with them before they die, bad interaction, circumstantially--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fine!” He snapped, slamming his fists on the table, spilling his drink over the lip of the glass. “I just… I can’t go to jail for this.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That’s not up for me to decide… but if you work </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, it will make this much easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eugene seemed to contemplate the idea, his breath was harsh with the scent of spirits and Bekowsky could not hide his frustration with the drunk.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He sold morphine.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Who?” Stefan had </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> expected that.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The both of them. Tommy was his bodyguard… his target consumers aren’t exactly the most trustworthy… clearly, or they wouldn’t now be in a million pieces of flesh…” He raised his near empty glass in Stefan’s direction.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Christ. I imagine he made a lot of enemies… happen to know?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No. He cut me off when I couldn’t keep up the payments. Truth is, they weren’t for me, they were for a friend. He’s died since...  after that, Tommy and Craig wouldn’t even take a look at me. So, yeah, they were good at getting people to hate them.”<br/></span>
  <span>“Thank you, Eugene, I appreciate the help.” He tucked his book back in his pocket. Standing a few centimeters, he found himself sitting back down, “Just… stay out of trouble, yeah? You seem a decent lad, don’t get mixed up in this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, it has been a minute. I've been preoccupied with another fic that might show its face here soon...<br/>Speaking of, I'd like to give a shout out to Lumiere_Noir, for listening to my ramblings and developing it into something more. Ily mans, you're golden.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. To Be Reassigned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roy deals with returning to work as Stefan gets some unexpected news.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look like shit, Earle. Karma finally kicked you in the face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy checked his watch, by the time of it it was approximately </span>
  <em>
    <span>too-early-to-be-dealing-with-Detective-O'Halloran o’clock. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Most people referred to this hour as 9am but Roy couldn’t wipe the expression of annoyance off his face to save himself. O’Halloran was an honest cop who had transferred from the Detroit Police Department to keep an eye on a suspect who, apparently, was later convicted by Phelps himself. Roy didn’t ask because he didn’t care. The only thing he really knew about O’Halloran was that he seemed to remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> without a single flaw. A useful trait without a doubt but Roy became confused when Teddie would offhandedly suggest that cigarettes should have fruit-themed flavours. Apart from that, the Detective was another name in the books for him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, Teddie, a D.A. investigator kicked me in the face.” Roy blew smoke right at him, slyly smirking. O’Halloran scowled, he hated being called Teddie.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Shit. I mean I’d ask, but, firstly… what’s with the suit? It’s a little too big.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh the </span>
  <em>
    <span>size </span>
  </em>
  <span>is your problem with it? I have quarrels with the whole damned thing. Makes me look like a broad straight out of a whorehouse!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Pfft.” O’Halloran rolled his eyes, “far from it, Chief. Suits you, really, red brings out the psychopath in your eyes.” He flicked his own cigarette butt and sniffed. Roy did not much but glared following a threatening laugh. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Managing to get off scot free from the scandal had not been an easy feat but Roy could sweet talk himself out of anything. So, when his eyes drifted to where his work lay he frowned. Things were so different and, yet, not. It had been eight days since Cole’s funeral. Not even double digits. Roy had asked that he have time to be sure the Vice department was fully functioning before he was assigned any more cases. </span>
  <span>It was O’Halloran’s first day back at work after the funeral and Roy had to bite his tongue before yelling that he had once been the detective’s partner and he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>shown his face the following day. Same as Stefan and Roy could only assume that Ralph, Rusty and Hershel had not been any different. Hell, even Elsa was back at the Blue Room. Singing with tears in her eyes and hatred in her heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world still turned, it just </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy had found that smokes tended to hurt his chest as he breathed. Alcohol didn’t warm his veins as much as it did beforehand. The rolling of fellow detective’s eyes wasn’t nearly as rewarding. What in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> was grief doing to Roy? If it was grief at all. Roy had always thought that grief was a five letter word for cowardice. Now, he was having second thoughts about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Teddie don’t you have cases to let me down on?” Roy huffed, taking a deep inhale of the smoke. Even that was spitefully unpleasant. The younger detective gave him a hurt look but it didn’t ring any remorse in him. There were </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> problems to be dealt with. Out, on the streets of L.A., not the mere spite of a quip. Such hurt Roy would usually get at least a kick out of. But his heart thudded slowly and his veins didn’t feel a thing.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sir yes Sir.” O’Halloran poked his tongue out before pushing past Roy. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’re a child, O'Halloran.”<br/></span>
  <span>“And you are an asshole, Earle.” He held his finger up over his shoulder as he left the room, not even pausing to face the older man. Then, once he was out the door he yelled back, “a five star asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy was tapping his foot over and over and over until </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> it became too much. He was sick of every damned soul in the station. Of the detectives mourning Phelps as if they knew him. Of the desk ladies who had to reapply their mascara after shedding a tear. Of the bustle and clicking of typewriters. Roy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick to death of it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Walking on tiles where his shoes made relentless </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap tap tapping</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds, he nearly punched the door of the bathrooms open. There was one officer in the room washing his hands. Taking a glance at Earle, he lasted about half a second before he screamed,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Get out!” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And the officer was out the door before Roy could catch his breath. Splashing his face with water only did so much as he rubbed his face and took a breath. It had taken him nearly five minutes to calm himself enough to take a gander at his reflection. The black eye was bad, it was as dark in colour as a Cuba Libre. Stretching his neck out to look under his jawline, there was bruising scaling his neck accompanied with scabbing. All covered with fine layers of medical tape by no other than a certain quote, </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, end quote, who Roy had been forcing his mind to ignore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Roy’s mind let the idea of Stefan slip through the cracks. He had received a phone call from the Homicide detective to ask if Roy were okay. It had been somewhat late and there had been a slur in his voice. Drunk was the first assumption which was backed up when, after a few moments of silence, Stefan whispered, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I miss him</span>
  </em>
  <span>” into the phone. Damned the Pole, Roy’s own feelings became unbottled in that exact moment when he admitted he felt the same. It was the death of the phone call and Roy hadn’t heard from Stefan since. Roy had been trying, for the past week, to screw the lid on his emotions back shut. Many different possibilities had entered his head on what Stefan could be doing in that exact moment, though none came close to reality. Stefan had been pulled into Donnelly’s office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bekowsky, with relevant information we have decided that the Vice squad will now have control over the Wilkes Peent case.”<br/></span>
  <span>Stefan was the worst kind of surprised. The kind of surprise that radiated anger and disdain. So, when his mouth opened and he exclaimed words that he had not considered, he did it all with gritted teeth.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“With all due respect Sir, fucking excuse me?”<br/></span>
  <span>“With all due respect Detective, this case was given to you not even two weeks ago. Detective Galloway is sick and won’t be here for a few weeks... and with recent findings, well, the Vice squad should really take the case entirely.” Donnelly’s tone was colder than ice, he offered Stefan a seat which he only took after a few moments of hesitation. “Army Surplus or not, it’s paramount that Vice takes the case.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>That did a grand total of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck all</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sooth his outrage. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sir.” He tried to level with the captain, chest still heaving at the revelation, “Detective Leville is counting on me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Detective Leville is </span>
  <em>
    <span>unhinged…</span>
  </em>
  <span> laddie, you are the only detective he seems to talk to, so… we can’t take you off this case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meaning behind the statement didn’t sink into Stefan straight away. He had merely stared at Donnelly until he gave him an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to be moving to the Hollywood station, still as a homicide detective.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What in the f---” He was, thankfully, cut off.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Firstly, we just can’t be transferring the whole case again. Details get lost that way…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Sir!”</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He shot up out of his chair, Donnelly lost his temper at that, his tone became sharp enough to cut glass.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hell, both you and Earle were once partnered with Phelps, perhaps you will help each other see the light at the end of the tunnel. Tomorrow morning you’ll start with Earle, Vice has the go ahead at 9am the 8th...  don’t be late. I won’t hear another word about it laddie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan had not meant to slam the door behind him. Although, perhaps, his subconscious had.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>not to be lame but some feedback would be mint :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Melting Nature of Pleasantries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roy and Stefan contemplate comfort on Stefan's first day in Vice</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>° ° °</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Hollywood station was eagerly awaiting one Stefan Bekowsky and Roy was refusing to have any part in the excitement. He was sitting at his desk early that morning, a coffee already in hand and smoke hanging from his mouth. The coffee was not straight, no, such an annoyance of a morning required some liquor. Though his eyes moved from the transfer papers to the bandages on his hands. He thought back to when Stefan had treated those grazes so softly and said words of comfort in the early hours. Roy wouldn’t greet him with the same pleasantries. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective Earle, phone call for you.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Roy </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span> frowned at the woman who had beckoned him over, though he flashed her a smug smile as he picked it up.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“This is Earle.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>There was a ring of static noise in the background for a few seconds. Roy frowned, feeling a wave of chills overcame him.<br/></span>
  <strong>“Listen to me closely. You do not want to be any more involved in this. It will have serious repercussions…”<br/></strong>
  <span>Roy took the threat seriously for a moment. But, no longer then that. The station had been awash with threatening calls since Cole had died. Golden Boy KIA, threats from the public coming through were being made out of fear. The public had lost their hero, it tended to drive people to anger. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Huh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roy thought as his smoke dangled from his lips, </span>
  <em>
    <span>another strange form of grief. </span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Excuse me, I give the threats, I don’t take them. I appreciate your time, goodbye asshole.” Roy hung up almost immediately. He watched the phone for a few seconds longer, brow furrowing at it as he focused. Part of him, deep down, was expecting it to ring again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective Earle?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Roy nearly jumped from where he stood but instead he swung around to face the origin of the voice and snapped,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” <br/></span>
  <span>The desk lady looked taken aback with wide eyes and a death grip on the papers in her hands.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“J-just letting you know that Detective Bekowsky is out the front…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Is he un-fucking-able to walk through the doors without me holding his hand?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Despite ignoring it, Roy </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> see her nose flare in anger. No thanks left his lips but he turned to go to the entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For most people, staircases were just that. Stairs. From one floor to another. For Roy, it was a realm of contemplation. Why was he </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>angry? The considerations had whacked him out of reality to not even notice that he’d nearly knocked another man down the stairs as they passed each other. No, Roy didn’t check if he was okay. He was still pondering the question, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> was fueling the fire in his heart? <br/></span>
  <span><em>And why</em> was it that the second he saw Bekowsky, that fire simmered only a little bit? Not simmer, no, he felt as if the flames were melting him. It was enough to put a halt in his steps, to take a quick misplaced breath and to sway slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roy.” The detective’s smile was warming. A different warmth to Roy’s internal blaze. This was comforting, the younger man was damned near charming. Though Roy’s internal monologue cursed Stefan for not using his last name.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Detective Bekowsky.” His voice was still lost on him but he refused to acknowledge it, “welcome to Hollywood.”</span>
</p><p><span>In no way, shape or form was this going as Roy’s internal monologue had planned. The script had gone something like: </span><em><span>Bekowsky. Welcome. This is the top of it all and I’m frankly unsure if you’re cut out for all of this. Or, well, any of it. Your agonisingly slow path up the ranks leaves something to be desired and you will be on your own in the event that you prove yourself any less than exceptional. </span></em><span>But instead, his heart was hit with an ache and his mind was in the process of reminding himself that that entire script was a lie. That, if anyone, Stefan was the best man to bring into Vice. Because who the hell else would stick his neck out for Roy the way he had? The Pole had proven himself that day, when Roy was nothing more than a punching bag and he had expected </span><em><span>no</span></em> <em><span>one</span></em><span> to give a damn. Stefan had been there.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” He looked up against the brightly overcast sky and squinted at the architecture of it, “kind of surreal.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Roy didn’t find any words to say but, instead, grabbed the door for him and held it open. Scowling at a woman who pushed her way through. Stefan walked up the steps as if it were private property and he was not allowed. Roy’s mind told him to quip, his heart told him to comfort. Damned to hell the war that Roy’s insides were fighting in care for this man that he shouldn’t care for.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s okay, Roy.” Stefan woke Roy from his hazy thoughts, “I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me to be here.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>That somehow stumped Roy further. Opening his mouth to talk and quickly closing it once he realised he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> words.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“W-why do you figure that?” If Roy had a penny for every time he stuttered, he would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> penny. That was it. That was the first time he’d stuttered. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You Vice detectives are so protective of your ivory tower.” There was a playful smile there and against all odds, Roy smiled back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides showing Stefan around, Roy’s plan of putting some fear in the man was quickly forgotten. There was an understanding between them, still, since the night of Cole’s funeral. To hell with Stefan’s expression when Roy accidentally asked how the cat was. By the time they sat at their desk, which was </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs</span>
  </em>
  <span> now, Roy’s plan was out the window. No fear, only smiles. Stefan had met most of the detectives who were lingering around the station, Roy had shouted him and coffee and, just as they took their seats, there was an exchange in suit complimenting. Roy was out of Stefan’s red suit, apparently to the dismay of his co-workers and had promised to return it to Stefan soon.  Though, he was still wearing the other gentleman’s tie. A part of him liked it but he would never dare say such a thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no messing around in dressing for Stefan on his first day at Vice. The suit he wore was a sleek midnight blue which shimmered indigo in some lights, lined with thin silver stripes. With black pants, freshly pressed and perfect in length. His shoes and undershirt both dark ebony and his tie was a whole other world of drawing attention. It was a vivid silver in shade, with black star patterns across the front of the fabric. Silk, it had to be, that shimmer could only come from silk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look flash, Bekowksy.” Roy admitted, offering one of his smokes out to who he had since accepted as his new partner. “Might fit in here after all.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh you were planning on leaving me in the dirt, were you?” He took one with a thankful nod, leaning over to where Roy had his lighter out. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Obviously. I have a reputation to uphold.” Roy smirked as he turned the lighter to his own smoke. Stefan was about to respond when a voice interrupted the two of them. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He does, actually.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan and Roy looked up to see Colmyer approaching them at their desk. Stefan shot up immediately, </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Colymyer, I’m at your service, Sir.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Roy smirked at the way Stefan missed a breath and outstretched a hand. The lieutenant responded with a shake back, firm and a little unsettling. There had been silence between Roy and Archie since the fall of the Suburban Redevelopment Fund. Their dirtied hands had since been cleaned with the deaths of Phelps, Sheldon and Fontaine. With Monroe and Benson imprisoned and Kelso sworn to secrecy on Peterson’s behalf, there was the opportunity to start fresh. So they had both done so. Roy with the promise of becoming a better man and Archie with the promise of reaching retirement without a scandal. Though, the looks they shot each other in the halls had a subtle ring of </span>
  <em>
    <span>I could tear down your whole world.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Bekowsky, good to meet you… nice of Donnelley to let us borrow you for this case… Vice hasn’t been the same since…” he trailed off, glancing between the two, “well, you both knew him. So. I’m sure there’s some comfort there. Old stories and what not. Maybe you can provide Earle some company, Bekowsky, his seems to find habit in beatings.” Archie gestured at the black eye and shook his head before leaving before Roy could spit any insults his way. </span>
  <span>Stefan did notice it. The tense nature between them. The way that Roy took a drag of his cigarette and blew it in the lieutenant’s direction. There was a spark in his eye, one that Stefan couldn’t fully understand. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Think he’s right?” Stefan could only hope. Vice seemed much too sudden since his promotion to homicide and all he wanted was to be a good detective. Roy wouldn’t sugar coat the answer. “That we might find some comfort here?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Comfort? No.” Stefan’s heart sunk just a little, Roy flicked the cigarette, “but healing...? I think that might just be a possibility.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was as if Stefan’s worries melted, just a tad, at the nature of such a pleasantry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>° ° °</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks yall for sticking with my inconsistent updates! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Where The Bodies Are</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There is a break in the case that neither Roy nor Stefan could ever have expected.</p><p>***WARNING: GOREY CONTENT***<br/>If you are not good with the gore imagery please be careful!<br/>A summary of the findings will be at the end of the notes for those who are sensitive to it- take care of yourselves xx</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lead from Eugene was proving worthy. After an interview around the public by some solid uniforms, it had been found there were a few missing persons who were known to have been taking morphine. Four, they had the names of: Ronnie Fletcher, Jo Florence, Timothy Natine and Francis Terrance. And suspiciously so, the people by those names had disappeared and been declared missing persons. </p><p>"Okay so… is there a chance it was one of these buyers? Someone trying to escape debt? Someone trying to get the morphine for themselves?" Stefan chewed on the end of his pen in deep thought. <br/>"Slow down sport, can you explain these to me? I've got an APB out on the names..."<br/>Stefan huffed in annoyance at the papers in Roy's hand. The metal prints, again, however Leville <em> had </em> managed to find the time to explain them to Stefan.<br/>"They're shrapnel pieces." He started off with his lips still pressed together firmly. "Leville had them analysed. He found that the markings, along here and here are nearly identical. So, we believe that whoever made the explosives used <em> opened </em> metal cans as ammunition. The cans themselves, he thinks, were tin... all of the same thickness <em> so </em> he proposed the idea that they are all identical products."</p><p>Roy had lit a smoke and started to watch as Stefan pointed to each marking just below the lip of each can lid.<br/>“Means we are looking for, what, a crazed nutter who seems to have stockpiled <em> these </em> specific cans?” Roy muttered, <br/>“That, or, a shop owner. Someone with bulk supply of the product, hell maybe even the supplier… once we find a match, that is.” Slipping the end of his pen through his lips, Stefan hummed aloud, “food ration cans, he said are the most likely. Thin. Tin. And all are grey, shrunken slightly from the detonation… I believe that the cans were originally beige in colour…”<br/>"Not exactly a lead, is it?" Roy huffed in frustration. <br/>"And your annoyance gets us nowhere, Earle." Stefan still had that smile on his face, it ticked Roy off just a sliver. <br/>"Consider it a negative passion. I'm passionate about my job. I'm going to pessimist when shit doesn't--"<br/>"What? Miraculously fall into place?"</p><p>Roy scoffed and stood up, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he paced up and down the briefing room. <br/>"How do you know it's not this Eugene guy that you interviewed? Described like lowlife scum? Could fit the profile?"<br/>"No." Stefan screwed his face up at the mere suggestion. "Eugene's an alright bloke. Besides, we really don't want to be booking anyone just for the sake of crossing a case off the list. Whoever this is, has talent. These bombs were crafted well… if it weren't for that damned morphine…"<br/>"You wouldn't have to deal with me?" Roy sneered a little, watching Stefan's expression flood over in frustration. <br/>"I wouldn't have to see Phelps' traits in you."<br/>That drew the conversation to a standstill. Eerie silence while frozen in both space and time. Both of them were short of breath, their snapping catching up to them until this exact second. Exhausted and vulnerable. Roy hated the latter. <br/>"He changed me. He changed you. Makes it really fucking hard to greive when he's everywhere I look." <br/>Roy stood still a few desks away from the younger detective. </p><p>After passing moments, Roy slowly approached Stefan. Placing the palms of his hands on the desk and leaning forward until they were right opposite one another. <br/>"He was a good man. Better than most. And sure, he didn't sculpt you from the ground up. But he chipped in some of the clay. Chiseled your confidence up to the point where you finally started to believe you were worth <em> something </em> to the LAPD." Roy's tone was harsh for a message so meaningful. "Stefan, you never really lose anyone. He's here."<br/>Roughly Roy jammed his fingers at Stefan's chest where his heart continued to skip beats. There were no words that could describe the rush of emotions Stefan was feeling. <br/>"Now. We have a fucking case to solve." Roy's eyes were piercing at Stefan, sending a chill through him. "Let's start with--"<br/>"Detective Earle. Call for you." The reminder that they weren't the only two in the building made Roy jump slightly. He huffed at the desk lady who contently ignored his reaction, only angering him further. <br/>"I'll be back, Stefan." </p><p>Stefan watched his partner round the corner with a kind of confidence in his step that he didn't see from many other detectives. Not even Cole had had that sway to his movement nor that assertiveness in his being. The detective's eyes wandered the metal printing as he suspected the identity of the brand. Though he fell short, considering it was mostly charred remnants or ash. There was a dull ebbing in Stefan's head as his eyes began to unfocus on the paper and stare blankly at nothing. There was a little sting where Roy's nails had jabbed his skin. That was the only feeling besides his unstable heartbeat. <br/>“We’ve been called out!!” Stefan jumped at Roy running back into the room, “forget the fucking metal prints, Bekowsky, there’s bodies!”</p><p>In the whirlwind of the next few minutes that was following Roy downstairs and into his car, accelerating at the speed of sound, that Bekowsky found himself swept up in his reality. Looking over his notes wasn’t easy with Roy taking sharp turns and testing the rubber of his wheels.<br/><em> Clues. </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> -Tin imprints </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> -Morphine selling </em></p><p><em> Suspects. </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> -Eugene Porter </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> -Ronnie Fletcher </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> -Jo Florence </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> -Timothy Natine </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> -Francis Terrance </em></p><p>There was no chat between the time Stefan had gotten into the car and the time they pulled up. A back alley just off of the Warehouse District’s Hewitt street. A looming police blockade cast shadows of the setting sun across the road as Roy’s car skidded to a halt. The distinct smell of burnt wheels did little in comparison to a strange, dull odor that immediately washed over the two of them. As was the silence. Unheard of, in such a scene, with so many police vehicles lined up. Mal and Ray’s cars were both present, though empty. <br/>“Detectives Earle and Bekowsky, Vice.” Roy stated, approaching the scene where a uniform met them. <br/>“Just down this alleyway here, Sirs… be careful.” <br/>“Really? Was planning on being unsafe actually, thank fuck you reminded me.” Roy scoffed, shoving past the patrol officer who was given an apologetic smile from Bekowsky.</p><p>The scene before them was surreal. </p><p>Mal and Ray stood a few meters into the alleyway. Hands by their sides, waiting, as if on hold. Little movement from either of them sent a shiver through Stefan.<br/>“Mal…?” Roy asked, his jaw clenched as they saw the crime scene. A metal bin, some barrels, and pool of blood.. There were no words Roy intended to follow with, he was star struck. <br/>“I’ve been told to hold off my work until you have both looked at it.” A photograph flash behind them struck the alleyway in white. Stefan blinked the haze away from his eyes and looked at the barrels as if they were an enemy. “Please, detectives, waste no time.”</p><p>If it were up to Roy and Stefan, they <em> would </em> take their time. The blood trickling from splits in the metal were patchy in dried and wet textures. The leak would have to be slow but the pool surrounding each was enough to make Roy and Stefan wonder how much blood was in the barrels themselves. A variable that Stefan screwed his nose up at. <br/>“You alright?” Roy chuckled to hide his own nervousness but his heart was racing along at a million miles an hour. <br/>“I’m…” Stefan looked pale in the face and simultaneously angry at the fear that was causing such a sickly tone. “I’m wondering why they called us..?” <br/>“You know why, that’s not what’s bothering you…” Roy saw the way Stefan’s eyes looked to and away from Roy. It was an admission of Roy’s correct guess. Stefan was smart enough to know that <em> somehow </em> Wilkes and Peent factored into all of this. <br/>“Check point B, Bekowsky, Wilkes’ ID card.” <br/>Stefan hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. <br/>“But this is… this isn’t anywhere <em> close </em> to how Wilkes and Peent died. They were killed by a homemade explosive, not… <em> whatever </em> this is.” He threw his arms out towards the barrels. <br/>“Let’s find out exactly what this is, then?” </p><p>Roy took the first step forward. Both detectives were careful to not set foot in the poolings of blood. However a stumble from Roy and Stefan managed to shoot his hand out quick enough to grab him. Catching the back of his elbow and pulling him back to stability, Roy muttered a thanks and scoffed at the miniscule amount of blood on his shoe. As Roy slowly lifted the lid, flicking it open so the barrel was open to the world. The both of them gasped through their urges to gag, and Stefan’s hand on Roy’s arm tightened in grip. Neither detective was aware that the hand was still in place.</p><p>In the barrel was a remnant of a body. The dark of night made it difficult to see and once Roy flicked his torch at it, they were met with the shiny reflection of water. The smell was horrid. Most bodies either of them had come across in their line of work were fresh but this was something else entirely. Water housing severed limbs, all in a state of bloated decay. A hand bobbed at the liquid’s surface among the faint red water and, in unison, Roy and Stefan could only whisper,<br/>“What the fuck?”</p><p>Stefan felt himself gag slightly and took a deep breath to steady himself. A faint feeling passed over him and the breathing only forced the smell down his throat further. Roy had an eye on him and felt a swell of concern for the younger man. <br/>“Mal.” He shouted before he even realised he’d opened his mouth, “You and Pinker get the rest of these open… <em> now! </em> ” <br/>The two older men looked hesitant, even in their lengthy experience. But as barrel after barrel was opened and exposed, Mal furrowed his brow and stated, <br/>“The body stretchers aren’t going to work…”</p><p>Roy’s mind went straight to just throwing the limbs in bags and being on his way however conduct would have had some quarrels with that. Instead he moved away from bodies in the barrels and decided to look over the scene more broadly. Stefan, however, kept Mal and Ray in some company.<br/>“Partnered with Earle?” Mal asked, not really paying attention as he took a deep breath and plunged his hand into the water. Immediately feeling ill, Stefan decided to help Mal with his distraction. <br/>“I am, yes.” Stefan fell short of words, hard when a colleague’s arm is in a mixture of water, blood, decay and innards. “He’s alright.” <br/>“Four bodies…” Mal whispered, “and I believe this one to be a female… good lord, this is too hard here, I can’t even tell if the parts in here belong to the same person… I’ll have to reconstruct them on the tables, I’m sorry Bekowsky it’s just not this simple… please can Roy or yourself let us know when you finish so we can begin this work.” <br/>Stefan nodded, smiling to both of them and conveniently not seeing Mal’s manky hand return from the depths. </p><p><br/>“Of course---”<br/>"Hey Stefan! Over here!"<br/>Perking up, Stefan shot them a smile. Though he was glad to find an excuse to be away from the blood, Stefan followed Roy's calls from around the corner. Just by the wall was a big mental bin, Roy stood beside it with folded arms and nodded in its direction. <br/>"Our killer is piss poor at playing hide and seek.”<br/>Roy cocked his head toward the open lid where, among the shadows, were a pile of tin cans. The exact shade that Leville had suspected. Stefan picked one out and turned it over in his hand.<br/>“Beige. Deadman Leville was right in that, hey?” <br/>“We don’t know it’s connected just yet…” Stefan had to admit the memory of the prints were similar to the can in his hand. The label read <em> Clabber Girl Baking Powder, </em> “know of this brand?” <br/>“No clue.” <br/>Stefan frowned, <br/>“Then clues <em> do </em> you have?” <br/>“Written all here.” He flicked his notebook open. “We can debrief at the station?” <br/>“Yes. I’d much prefer coffee and a view then…” Stefan turned his head to where Ray was waving them down, “...whatever horrors are over there.”</p><p>Roy took a few steps in front of Stefan, turning back to him and stopping him in his path. Stefan veered back slightly, having nearly brushed noses with his fellow detective, meeting his eyes. There was a few moments of silence before Roy whispered,<br/>“You’re alright?” <br/>There was a moment of hesitation where Stefan’s breath halted and he wondered if Roy had his own motive. <br/>“I… yeah, yeah I’m alright.” <br/>Discarding his smoke onto the ground and grinding it with his heel, Roy nodded. <br/>“Let’s go then.”</p><p>Stefan followed after his partner, slightly zoned out in trail of him. It took a few exchanges before he woke up and phased back into the situation where Mal was already talking.</p><p>“Interestingly, not all are filled entirely with water… whoever did this <em> isn’t </em> knowledgeable in how to go about these things. I think they expected the bodies to decay in a melting fashion, which would only occur if they used acids. Which they didn’t. Now, the times of the deaths are a tad apart judging from the stages of decay. There’s three in bloat, two in decay and one in dry… well, as dry as it can get considering." He gestured vaguely at the barrels. <br/>"Can I ask a question?" Stefan asked,<br/>"Technically that was a question." Roy reminded him before Mal quickly interjected. <br/>"Yes you may."<br/>"Uh. So. What the fuck?" <br/>Roy snorted a little, though his perceptions were the same. <br/>“Once I’ve analysed the dismemberment I’ll be able to suggest further possibilities… until then, there’s not much else I can do here detectives.” <br/>“And no witnesses?” Roy frowned, <br/>“None. Well, besides the officer that found them. He’s back at the station, if you want to ask him some questions. Be gentle with him…”</p><p>Roy nodded, pulling out another smoke before he noticed that Stefan had zoned out again, eyes vaguely resting on the barrels and the blood pooling from them. Moving to rest his hand on the small of Stefan’s back, he encouraged him to take that first step, whispering to him that they were going to go with the promise of a view and a coffee.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>° ° °</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would like to dedicate this to Lumi and Cemetery who both continue to inspire me in my writing... thanks yall x</p><p>Case findings:<br/>Dismembered bodies in barrels, four of them, unconfirmed gender/identity at this point in time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Chorus for Forgiveness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefan and Roy meet with Officer Walters. The day does not go as planned.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hear about the development in the Wilkes Peent case?! They think they’ve found </span>
  <em>
    <span>four </span>
  </em>
  <span>bodies--”<br/></span>
  <span>“I can’t believe it... they found the bodies in barrels. Cut up, apparently…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Didn’t that missing detective have the case? I think it was transferred...”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The station was bustling with the news. Roy could already feel a growing headache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wish someone else could deal with this bullshit…” Roy scoffed, tired of the whispers and the glances.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What like, one of McCulloch’s robots?” Stefan grinned at the prospect. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What did you just say?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You know, the post-war robots research… and all its rules.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Rules?” Roy opened the door for Stefan, letting him pass with a vague gesture of his hand.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Three rules of robotics.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Don’t let the beat control your feet… under any circumstances. Be punctual. No genocide.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy stopped for a few seconds, watching the grin on his partners face as he took a seat at their desk. The evening sun casted a golden light over the Pole’s complexion. In his eyes danced flecks of orange as he unbuttoned his suit jacket to take a seat. </span>
  <span>Shaking himself awake from the confusion, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>tssk’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>at his partner,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Make yourself at home at my desk, why don’t you.”<br/></span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Our </span>
  </em>
  <span>desk now.” Stefan winked, Roy’s tongue swept the roof of his mouth as he pulled the smoke out to huff. Part of him was grateful that Stefan seemed calmer, the rest of him blew his cigarette smoke directly at the detective. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What do we know?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Two fuckers died by being torn to shreds by a bomb made and </span>
  <em>
    <span>sent</span>
  </em>
  <span> to them. Known morphine movers, dealers, peddlers, shitheels. Many of their clients had vanished in recent times. Now four bodies show up in barrels, assume unrelated until an ID of our two fragmented fellows shows up on that scene. To finish it up, some shit about metal cans.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wow.” Stefan rolled his eyes with a smirk, “case closed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours dragged by with relentless analysis of things that seemed even a little far fetched. They were waiting on some news and, by afternoon, the phone rang for Roy.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Mal.” Roy spoke sharply, “Spent the morning napping in your old age? We have a job to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Roy, fantastic.” Mal sounded as dead as the corpses his job required analysis on.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Let’s go then, please, no pleasantries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never been pleasant, Roy.” Roy huffed a laugh at the bite on the old man. “Based on the bodies’ decay, I have made a rough guess in regard to when they were killed… you may be interested to know that they match up with your missing persons.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eyebrows shot up in disbelief. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Our suspects, Bekowsky, what’re their names?” Roy’s hand gesture was wildly directed at his partner who flicked through his notebook quickly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Ronnie Fletcher, Jo Florence, Timothy Natine and Francis Terrance?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Roy repeated the names into the phone and heard a humm from Mal.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah seems to match up… Florence being the most recent.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What is he saying?” Stefan asked, sitting like a damn dog waiting for treats.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Shut up.” Roy told him,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Me?” Mal asked from the other end.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, sorry, fucking hell.” Roy groaned, scribbling some notes down. “Is there any indication that these four were killed by the same person who killed Wilkes and Peent?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“None whatsoever. They couldn’t be more opposite. Wilkes and Peent were killed by a home made explosive. No active physical involvement from the attacker at all. Fletcher, Florence, Natine and Terrance were all brutally dissected. Not only was their attacker there but he then went on to remove their limbs and place them in barrels of water. We have one coward and one psychopath. It’s up to you and your partner Earle to figure out how they play into one another.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy sighed and thanked Mal, handing up the phone to turn to Stefan who was wide eyes and nearly trembling with curiosity.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What was it?!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Our suspects are actually our victims.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Our suspects are our what nows?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Roy took a seat next to Stefan, trailing his finger over the page where the pen dented the names into delicate paper. He met Stefan’s eyes which had clearly worked out what he meant,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“These are our barrel vics?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Apparently so.” Roy frowned at the admission of it. Before he could even think what that meant, Stefan had said it,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So we are back to square one huh?” Stefan nearly hit his head on the wall as he leant back impatiently in his seat.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Didn’t figure you for a pessimist.” Roy produced a smoke from his jacket pocket and lit it as he spoke, taking a drag before continuing. “We have an officer in the interview room waiting for us, remember?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Not wrong there.” Stefan admitted. He looked tired, Roy could see right through his energetic smile.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We go now, then we can stop for a coffee?” The smirk was an instinct at Stefan’s grin.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his hurry, Stefan’s pen fell to the desk and was left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The interview could only be conducted at a later hour of the day once the officer was off his shift. Until then Stefan and Roy had taken a seat just before the road with two take away coffees and the scowl of an unsolved case on their faces. Though in time and with a game that Roy claimed to improve his detective skills, they were laughing at predicting strangers' life stories on the street. All of it was nonsense and when Stefan checked the time they nearly had to sprint to get into the interview without being late. Time- absolutely unaccounted for.</span>
</p><p><span>“Officer?” Roy swung the door open a little too quickly, holding it for Stefan who shot him a smile. The gentleman sitting at the desk took a quick stand, patting down his suit jacket as he pressed his lips together and held his hand out to the two of them.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Walters, Sirs…" Stefan shook his hand back, Roy was playing bad cop and Stefan could only assume what position that left for him.<br/></span><span>“Sit, Walters, so we can get this over quickly.” Roy sniffed as he took a seat next to Stefan. It was strange to Stefan. Rusty was always a passive observer in an interview unless he had something to snap at. The way Roy was already eyeing the officer sent goosebumps over Stefan. </span><em><span>Hell, </span></em><span>he considered, </span><em><span>maybe we will make a good team. <br/></span></em><span>“Tell us, Officer.” Stefan bit his inner cheek as Roy addressed him so blatantly, an authoritative move which Stefan shouldn’t have found surprising but did nonetheless. “What happened?”</span><span><br/></span><span>“I was walking my beat, pretty average day considering it all… not much trouble about.”</span><span><br/></span><span>“Overcast with a chance of rain,</span><em><span> I said</span></em> <em><span>quick</span></em><span>.” Roy lit his smoke as Walters looked between the two detectives.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Well… I heard a crash, probably a rat or something but it caught my attention. Followed it around the back alley of that warehouse and saw the blood.”</span><span><br/></span><span>Stefan noticed his eye contact was </span><em><span>telling</span></em><span>. There was information there that he needed to share and as far as Stefan was concerned, he had not lied.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Did you look into the barrels?” </span><span><br/></span><span>“No, followed protocol… called for backup.”</span><span><br/></span><span>The second that Walters looked elsewhere, Stefan smirked,</span><span><br/></span><span>“Come on, Officer.” A mimic of Roy’s harsh tone but with a gentle look in the eyes, Stefan tilted his head, “that’s not true, you want to make yourself suspicious here?”</span><span><br/></span><span>The moment of panic hit the officer just enough for Stefan to still maintain his trust. Roy was not having any of it, smoking as if it was what he was in the room to do.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Fine. I looked in one. Saw a hand and vomited into the bins. Didn’t </span><em><span>really</span></em><span> want to admit that.”</span></p><p>
  <span>That rang true with Stefan, at least, and if Roy had any issues with it then he didn’t make them known. Stefan took a minute to look over Walters, to let him stew in his own thoughts. He looked to be mid twenties, if Stefan were to take a wild guess. More hair to his head then most men, though it was a fair shade of blonde and did not seem to be much work. Effortlessly falling either side of his temples, slicked back. Square jaw and cheekbones that casted a longer shadow as his teeth gritted at the silence. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But you didn’t see anyone down the alley?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No.” No lie in his sapphire eyes. The questions that followed were mundane and of little note. Walters complied with them without much issue. Stefan found himself respecting the officer, Roy looked a little less keen. Something which was only reinforced once they thanked him for his time and left the room and Roy muttered,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“White-livered…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“A little harsh.” Stefan sipped at his coffee again,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Bekowsky, listen here my young protégé. That man is white-livered. Case--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Still wideeee open.” Stefan butted in, throwing away his coffee cup into the nearest bin and yawning.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Aw is Ad Vice a bit much for the little homicide detective?” Roy cooed, snide in all his mannerisms.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, Roy, you’re boring me.” He nearly poked his tongue out, “I have to get home so, I’ll see you in the morning… </span>
  <em>
    <span>partner</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan turned to leave but Roy had to have the last word,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You mispronounced </span>
  <em>
    <span>Superior</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To which Stefan gracefully showed Roy his middle finger before disappearing through the doors and into the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The station was usually empty at this time and tonight was no different. Very few souls lingered around, the night shift consisted of exhausted men and unsalvageable ghosts of the victims of cases. Roy wandered upstairs to his desk, in hopes to take some work home with him where he could pour himself a drink and contently ignore it. He was doing so when the view caught his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy only felt forgiveness at the lowest of times. Where his ivory towers reinforced with traps were rusting away by his own self sabotage. The quiet city streets seemed to be begging for forgiveness. For giving him memories now bittersweet. Times and places and people, all since displaced and changed, where the geometry of the footpaths shifted to create fake stories and hide alibis. That call of forgiveness, the consideration of it, did not last long. When he gritted his teeth at the mere prospect of forgiving the harsh streets of L.A. and turned a blind eye to the calm of the view. Lies hiding behind forgiveness- Roy was not new to it. It was a facade, Roy would not forgive it but fight it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his jacket back on, Roy hesitated by the windowsill just a second longer. Merely to frown, though not at anything in front of him. The source of his annoyance was the pen on his desk perfectly out of place. Roy was a stickler for his desk being pristine and Stefan’s pen was just out of place enough for Roy to huff at it. He picked it up on his way out, turning out the light and heading to his car. A harsh chill on the wind followed his footsteps through the dark walkways. In his hand, in an attempt to warm his fingers, Roy fiddled with it. Internally, cursing at Stefan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The click of the pen was in chorus to the gunshot that echoed through the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shout out to good mans Walters, you know who you are ya nerd :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Blood Filled Pens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefan tries poetry, Roy is having less fun.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Curse to hell the blank age staring right back at Stefan.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You have a lot of pent up emotion, it’s obvious. I can see it behind the glaze in your eyes and I’m no detective.” <br/>The memory of Marisol ran in his head as clear as day. “Try poetry, it works for Eddy.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Edward made it look easy. A month or so earlier someone had sent one of his poems around the station. There had been no embarrassment for the gossip of the month. Cole had analysed it on Roy’s request, from Stefan’s memory, the vice detective had intended on using it for his own amusement. Cole claimed that Edward was, indeed, head over heels for an unknown dame. With an emphasis on the colour green, the station could only imagine the beauty of her eyes. He wrote well and so Stefan was only more irritated by the page in front of him. Empty. Blank. Nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although his setting was exquisite sitting on the balcony of his apartment late in the night. L. A.’s night life was noisy. Yells and shouts from late night wanderers, the backfire of a car, rustling of leaves from the street’s trees. Frustration won him over, the page’s words were not helping. Not while the words regarded a person with blood pumping through their veins and not the barrels that were leaking just that. It was clear that Stefan’s mind was elsewhere, drowning in cerulean eyes. It was an awful feeling, to be so distracted by something, someone, without any logical reason. Stefan frowned at the page, then the bottom of his glass, rolling his head back to look at the sky. If the stars held any answers, they were certainly not speaking to Stefan. He was left alone in the void of the night with a chill against his skin and an urge to sleep. An urge he gave into after scribbling some words on the page and discarding it in frustration.<br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy wasn’t in the station when Stefan showed up to work the next morning. Two coffees in hand and a smile on his face, there was something about the day that shouted </span>
  <em>
    <span>new possibilities</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There was enthusiasm in his veins. Roy was nowhere to be found but he hadn’t made a call to let anyone know why, Stefan sat at their desk assuming he was on his way. </span>
  <span>Stefan was staring out the window when the phone rang and he damn near threw the chair in standing up as quickly as he did. He stuttered his name and department, repressing the urge to ask if it was Roy. Static flooded the other end of the line until finally, a voice.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I warned the Vice detective, the shitheel with the smug attitude. I warned him. It’s too late for him. Detective Bekowsky, be sure to take my warnings more seriously then your late partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Late partner couldn't mean Cole… but there was very little clarity in the other end of the line in the slightest. Then again, 'vice detective' had to be Roy. As Stefan's eyes flickered to the clock and the message began to dawn on Stefan, he felt sick to his stomach. The call ended, abruptly, and Stefan was left alone in the room with nothing but a hurricane of worry. He stood up much too quickly, spilling Roy's coffee which had since gone cold. </span>
  <span>Storming into Colymer’s office probably was not the smartest of moves. Marisol, one of his favourite desk ladies, called out to him but he did not stop. There was not even a glance her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is Roy?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The older man froze at that. The expression of his face made Stefan turn his nose up at him, at the room. Standing aggressively on such matted carpet, illuminated by the rising sun's light, Stefan’s challenge was not one he was willing to apologise for.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Where the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> is Roy?!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tapping his fingers rhythmically on the desk, Colymer gritted his teeth.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Roy was taken to the hospital late last night…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Panic raced through Stefan’s veins and felt like ice.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Is he alright?!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m afraid not. He is unconscious and unresponsive. Bullet wound to the abdomen.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan’s knees gave in slightly, he had to catch himself on the desk where his nails dragged through the wood’s polish. “We were waiting for the right time to tell you.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Th--- the right--?” Stefan breathlessly smiled in fear, unable to form a sentence. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Without saying much else, Stefan turned to leave. Colymer shouted out after him but the words were reduced to a dull buzzing noise in the dark recesses of Stefan’s mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan hated few things in the world. Well. That wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely</span>
  </em>
  <span> true. He could be irritated with ease but raw anger was a rare thing for him. Threats to his partner, crims with an ego bigger than the LAPD and, strangely, fear. Peculiar to feel a strong emotion for a different emotion. Counterintuitive, maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To hate fear.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan was just then hearing the news through whispers in the office. Just words and phrases here and there. Nothing solid, nothing concrete. But it was enough for Stefan's mind to spiral. Before he knew it, he had roughly pushed past fellow officers and locked himself in the bathroom. It was there that his breathing fell into shambles. Short, sporadic and shallow heaves of breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Earle. Caught. Bullet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan cursed history. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he would scream at the gods, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how does the viciousness keep happening?!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He would be given no answer, only stinging to his eyes and impending hyperventilation. The world blurred and discoloured. His chest felt tighter than ever, an ache in the heart tore trembles through his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan lashed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first it was against the walls. Tiled and smooth, only lead to bruising. He turned too soon, heaving out his breath with every punch. The ache was beautiful. Much like an anchor, it stabilised him against the tides. It was only once he turned slightly, that his fist hit the metal. </span>
  <span>It hurt. He could tell the second he hit it. Skin split down his knuckles, blood flying every which way. That's when he stilled. Frozen in place as if his life depended on it. He looked himself dead in the eyes, blood trickling down the mirror. The man in the mirror looked half dead. Long gone and leaving crimson blots in the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world warped. Stefan was present and not. Awake and not. Conscious and not. Attentive and not. The noise of the station was muffling into white noise and the bustling of people around him were mere in the span of it all. That's until someone ran into him directly. Startling as if from a bad dream, clutching his bleeding hand, he snapped. <br/></span>
  <span>"Open your eyes--"<br/></span>
  <span>"Detective. Bekowsky! Sorry, it has been a rollercoaster of a day huh… you hear about Earle?"<br/></span>
  <span>"He was shot…" Stefan ghosted through the interaction.  Hell, Stefan ghosted through most of the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second he raised his hand to visit Earle, to reassure his partner that there would be consequences for whoever had pulled the trigger, he was shot down. Well, not as shot down as Roy had been. But the suggestion was denied, saying that Earle was to have no visitors until the following morning at most. He was told to go home, to rest and process the information. Despite the insistence that home would help, Stefan took the long road. Unsuspecting pedestrians got scared out of their skin when Stefan swerved a little too close to the curb or put the pedal to the floor in very little time. Home only had little refuge to offer. There, on his coffee table, lay the open pages. The poem about the man now in a hospital bed. Stefan’s trembling fingers traced each word, smearing blood over the page until he took a sharp breath and it all crashed down over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I cannot bethink much past the lake of crimson between the concrete cracks. <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wh're life hath used to pulsate, beest warmeth and homely. <br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Expos'd to the air as a nightmare,<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>Wh're mine own only solace hast been hath found in the waketh of teal eyes.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And a smileth yond wast as pure as coequal bef're the sight of the lake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loss of a friend too young was, in a sense, a slap to the face. This would be a hit that Stefan would dodge. He was not losing another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks anyone who is stickin around.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Adronitis and Aspirin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefan is hit with adronitis and Roy needs something a lot stronger then aspirin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>° ° °</p><p> </p><p>“Relation to the patient?”<br/><br/>Stefan woke up from his daze at the question. He seemed to be traveling through time and space as if it were nothing.<br/>"Colleagues." He stammered slightly, vision glazing over the peculiar architecture of the building. Small corridors much too inconvenient for the traffic of a hospital. From the walls hung frames displaying blueprints or health and well-being guides. The occasional advertisement for cigarettes and reminders of how to properly wash hands. It gave very little personality to the stark white walls that felt as if they were slowly closing in on Stefan. <br/>"Not family?"<br/>"Hm? No. No he's my colleague." Stefan frowned at the question. <br/>"Shame… we haven't been able to get in contact with the family… just to let you know that we aren't too sure when he'll wake up. Bullet did a number on him but I'll let the doctors explain that. The room is 2-45a."<br/>"Thank you."<br/>Surely, Stefan considered, surely Roy had family in L.A. Someone closer than at least Stefan, a mere colleague and partner of a few weeks. Although he himself knew the feeling. With most of his family having moved elsewhere and the death of his parents, Stefan realised maybe he too would have only his work partner.  </p><p>Stefan's breath hitched the second he turned the corner and saw Roy. His partner was asleep, mouth ajar slightly. Stefan couldn't help but notice how pale he was, sickly white in shade nearly mirroring the sheets around him. Taking his hat off and holding it to his chest, Stefan walked in as quietly as he could. There was a seat by the bed, uncomfortable old metal that sent chills through Stefan's spine but he looked at the glass half full. That he <em>wasn't</em> the man who <em>had</em> been <em>shot</em>. There was wonder in Stefan's mind as he watched over Roy. Roy's face had never looked so peaceful, so quiet. Fear washed over him. He had been distracting himself from that expression with some research, Stefan had found that the tin makers were located in Terre Haute, Indiana. That was quickly ruled out as a place to look for suspects. No way would the manufacturers be involved. Yet, as Stefan’s sight lingered over Roy’s unconscious body he couldn’t help considering the two of them should get away. Escape L.A., the city, the people, the crime. </p><p>"Hello?" The knock at the door made Stefan jump. A young gentleman was peeking his head into the room, dressed to the nines in a doctors apparel. "I'm Hugh Culver, I'm looking after Mr. Earle."<br/>The straightening of his suit jacket was by no means necessary but Stefan felt obligated to. He shook the man's hand firmly, as if the strength in the exchange would convince the doctor that he wasn't torn up inside. <br/>"I appreciate your work doctor, he's still breathing and that's as far as my medical knowledge goes. Up and back to work Monday?" Stefan joked as he gazed his eyes over Roy. Eyes softly closed and breathing deeply in his slumber. A stark contrast to the deep bruises littering his skin. <br/>"Ha, not quite. Though I like your optimism Mr..?"<br/>"Bekowsky, sorry, my manners escape me.” </p><p>The doctor gestured to the seat and Stefan sat down once more. Unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so, trying to forget his nerves. <br/>"Mr. Earle is quite lucky in the span of the event. He managed to escape with a perforating wound to his upper left thigh, just before the hip. We believe his pelvic organs have been spared as have his bones, we fear he's sustained damage to the sciatic nerve…"<br/>Stefan nodded as if he knew what it was the doctor was talking about but in all honesty it was going in one ear and out the other. <br/>"What does that mean, doc?" He finally caved into his unknowing. <br/>"This particular nerve controls the leg. We fear damage may be extensive. And, although we don't have the information to determine this yet, damage can be permanent… meaning he'll be unable to walk without assistance."<br/>Stefan's eyes moved back to his partner. His bed ridden, unconscious partner who Stefan knew was too stubborn. <br/>"Thanks for telling it to me st---"<br/>Beneath the eyelids, there was a flickering of movement that stopped Stefan in his tracks. He stood from his seat with an uncontrolled urgency, lying a hand on the hospital sheets and leaning over the bed slightly. </p><p>Roy's eyes opened and the world was gifted the most stunning shade of azure, in pure spite of his state. </p><p>"There you are, partner." Stefan's smile was bittersweet as Roy tried to figure out just where he was and what was happening. Pupils mere pin pricks at the harsh lights above him. Stefan had to hold back the urge to brush away loose strands of hair from his forehead. It was what his mother always did for him and so he wanted to continue to provide that comfort. <br/>"Stef…?" Roy's voice was beyond hoarse, it sounded both exhausting and painful to utter a syllable. <br/>"Save your strength, shhh…"<br/>For half a second Stefan thought he'd listen until,<br/>"Y-you can't tell me what to do." Stefan laughed and rolled his eyes, glad to be able to <em> hear </em> Roy. <br/>"No but <em> I </em> can." Culver snickered as he moved his way to his awakening patient.  “Can you tell me what you remember of the past few days?”<br/>The manner in which Roy's eyes flickered back and forth across the cracks in the ceiling said more than his lack of words. Stefan could only imagine the pounding headache, the flurry of words and thoughts, the confusion and displacement. So when Roy looked right at Stefan as if he held the answers, he could only lean just a little closer to his partner in curiosity. <br/>"I had your pen…" Roy whispered, teeth gritting and jaw clenching almost immediately as he spoke. A tremor in his bones and yet another desperate, "I had your pen…" </p><p>Stefan swallowed harshly,<br/>"Dear partner of mine, you're not making any sense." Stefan tried an amused laugh to mask his growing concern. <br/>"You left early and I hung back…" Roy had a hoarseness in his voice that sounded like rusty metal grating together, "hmmm it was dark when it happened. I was holding your pen. Then, <b> <em>bang</em> </b> ." Roy sniffed and exhaled with a slightly delirious laugh, "the call, it warned me, well... it <em>threatened</em> me. Bastards."<br/>“There was a threatening call?!” Stefan exclaimed almost standing from his chair. <br/>“Just before you arrived at the station that first morning.” Roy’s eyes weren’t open anymore. Too tired, too dazed. <br/>“What was that, the 8th?! The doctor beside him flinched but Stefan didn’t lower his voice, “Roy that was <em> ten </em> days ago!” <br/>Stefan’s veins flared at the little reaction from his partner. A half assed shrug and a quick raise of eyebrows. Eyes still closed to the world. <br/>“What…” Stefan sat back down slowly, fiddling with the chair’s arm as if it could help calm him down. “What did the person say?” <br/>“Mhmm they just…” Roy’s head rolled to the side, toward Stefan, as if his neck was giving in, “they just told me not to get any closer, to not be anymore involved, I think…”<br/>“Wh- why shoot you?” Stefan fiddled with his nails before looking up to Culver, “excuse me Sir, do you happen to have the paper from Tuesday the 7th…?” <br/>“We should do… that’s a week or so old now though, would you like the newest one?” <br/>“No, the 7th, please if it’s no trouble.” He frowned.</p><p>That left the two of them alone in the room in a swelling of silence. Stefan had so much to say yet he knew that Roy would have no energy to answer. It was clear in the dark circles of his eyes that screamed for help. <br/>"You grace me with your presence." <br/>Roy's voice sounded strained beyond belief. There was some age to it too, as if the bullet had pushed him further into time where he was more frail. Stefan hated the sound on him. <br/>"Grace. Irritate. I never know how I make you feel." Stefan admitted, kicking a leg over and chewing thoughtfully at the skin on his thumb. A terrible habit, that one, but it provided a mere few moments of peace. And if all that failed well, it cracked a smile from Roy. Weak and colourless but a smile nonetheless. Stefan stared at his partner until the paper was delivered to him. </p><p>
  <b>Vice Detective Roy Earle is said to be receiving a new partner this week. Who the new detective is remains a mystery, but we are sure that he will not be a replacement for the late Cole Phelps. </b>
</p><p>Stefan read the report over and over and over. Promoting enough interest from Roy to attempt to sit up only to curse and hiss in pain and be scolded by Culver. <br/>"Stefan. Tell me what it means." Roy scoffed in frustration. <br/>“Whoever shot you, they knew… they knew it was me, that I was the transfer. Do we have a whistle-blower…?” <br/>Stefan felt as if he were talking to himself. Roy was too out-of-reality. Stefan’s eyes flickered over sentences. <em> --- we have been told that Earle is not hesitant in receiving a new partner---- Colmyer has been quoted as saying that his ‘trust in his detectives---- the presence of Army Surplus Morphine has not declined on the streets--- assured that this new pairing will be of grand progress. </em> Stefan’s limbs were running with adrenaline. There was something there between the lines that Stefan just couldn’t read. <br/>“How did they know, how did they know, how did they know…?” He whispered over and over.<br/>"I'm sorry Mr. Bekowsky but if you would please refrain from overwhelming Mr. Earle with stimuli…?*<br/>"I-- yes, sorry- of course…" Stefan nodded though he was fixated on the paper. </p><p>Stefan realised within a sudden moment that whoever it was, they knew about Stefan's placement on the case before it was official. Someone involved before his transfer. He had only interviewed mere people, the list was a small one. No whistle-blower, no, this was someone much more involved...</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>° ° °</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m the son to a jaded ghost<br/>So I’ve heard a lot and I still don’t know much</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Miracles in the Making</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roy finally has some progress when it comes to his recovery.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>° ° °</p><p> </p><p>“You look so well!”</p><p>The words awoke Stefan from his hazy perception of reality. Where cars beeped at lazy drivers or seemingly blind pedestrians, Stefan was waiting for a sound to snap him from his own empty bubble. The excited words from behind him were enough. <em> You look so well. </em> Stefan couldn't stretch his imagination to saying that to Roy. It had been over a week since Roy’s admittance and he was finally starting to sound much more like his old self. Yet, he was not out of the bed yet. </p><p>Stefan was awoken too late it seemed, as he collided shoulder to shoulder with the woman who had exclaimed the statement. He nodded as an apology to her, watching the family whose faces were brightened by the return of a husband and father. Sickness could strike at any time, death too, and Stefan could only muster a long sigh at the thought of it all. With fingers crossed, he entered the hospital. Roy would not be discharged today, he knew that, but he hoped for some good news. Or any news, in reality. Yet it was all the same. Stefan nodded to the staff who he now knew by name. He'd take a seat next to Roy, whose tone was sickly and muscles were fading into bone. Though he was awake more often then he was previously and so as soon as Stefan stepped through the door he was always confronted with,<br/>"Coffee?" and, "figured out who the whistleblower is?" Which were always answered with yes and no respectively. Roy would always peer over his coffee with suspicion in his eyes, as if Stefan were to be there for some ulterior motive. <br/>“You can relax Roy, it’s alright, I’m here off duty.” <br/>“That’s what concerns me, Pole.” Roy grimaced, “I don’t need to be knowing you personally. So. Allow us to discuss work.” <br/>Stefan rolled his eyes at the man in the hospital bed but his head firmly in orbit. Reality was not escaping him anymore, <br/>“What’s there to know? I’m a partner down, working a case of decomposing bodies in barrels, very little leads and---” <br/>“And you’ve never worked a real day in your life and now you’re learning.” Roy cooed with a smirk that Stefan could simply slap off him. <br/>“Like I said, asshat, no more leads.”</p><p>They had fallen into a routine of somewhat comfortable silence. Where Roy watched the roof, clearly sick and tired of counting cracks in the ceiling, and Stefan watched the business of the outside corridor until Culver arrived. This particular day, Stefan was ready to try a different approach with Roy.<br/>“Ed-- Leville had a blood nose during an interview.” It was dead quiet for a split second before Roy processed the information and he let out a hearty laugh. <br/>“Go on. Tell me.” <br/>Stefan hadn’t expected that of all things to get Roy’s attention but a smile washed over Stefan’s face and he scooted forward on his chair. <br/>“So. As expected, he was transferred from his own case and was put on something smaller. Some asshole victim, the butler did it, as unhelpful as possible, clearly-guilty type shit. He just needed a confession, right? We’ve all been there.” Stefan finally saw Roy’s eyes look into his own as he spoke, “but this fucker is preaching convicted by public opinion and he starts turning it all back on Eddy. Worked a treat, flustered Eddy enough for his nose to start gushing. All over the desk, his beautiful, may I add, <em> new </em> suit. Coughs by mistake, blood spatters over the suspects shirt who, in panic, confesses.”<br/>The both of them grinning ear to ear, even if it were at such an unfortunate story. Stefan wondered if the bullet had made the first crack in Roy’s walls. If now, he was scratching with bleeding fingernails at the remnants of the structures to desperately find some trust in his new partner. A connection, a sense of humanity, something, anything. <br/>“Damn fool.” Roy scoffed, <br/>“A fool with a confession.” Stefan concurred. Glass half full. <br/>“A fool with a ruined suit.” Roy reminded him. Glass half empty.</p><p>Stefan wondered what Roy saw in his eyes, because in Roy’s he saw twisted frustration. Maybe he could ask, maybe just maybe Roy would answer---<br/>“Detective Bekowsky! Long time no see.” Culver joked as he entered the room. Stefan would be lying if he said that he hadn’t become fond of the doctor over the past few visits. A smile and some optimism was always flooding his words and Stefan had quickly realised that was why Roy <em> wasn’t </em> fond of him. He looked flushed this particular morning, cheeks sinking into red and a little pace to his breathing, <br/>“Brilliant news, Earle, you’ve been cleared for movement throughout our halls.” <br/>“Oh doc, I could damn well kiss you.” Roy grinned, not in an expression of happiness but one of paying off patience. <br/>“Don’t get too excited just yet… unfortunately because we are concerned for your nerves, we will have to assist in teaching you to walk again…” <br/><br/>As a concept that was a huge one. Stefan looked from the smile on Culver to the frown on Roy. Though before Culver could even ask if Roy was alright with the prospects of it, Roy had told him that he would start right away. Stefan couldn’t help but nod, after all it was so Roy-like to be impatient. Especially with himself, especially with an injury like this one. After all, he refused both Culver and Stefan’s help in getting him into the wheelchair and insisted he push himself through the corridors. Somehow, ahead of the doctor who was leading them there, Roy moved past staff and patients as if this roof was his own. <br/>“He’s got a hell of a backbone.” Culver muttered to Stefan who smiled back softly and whispered, <br/>“His ego is much worse.” Which cracked half a laugh out of the doctor before Stefan called out, “hey Roy. Reckon you could pull off a wheelie on that?” <br/>Roy shook his head with a smirk, making a comment about how it must be against the rules. It was only a short time later that he gave the maneuver a shot. It was clear that the mere idea of being allowed out of his room was giving him an energy he had been lacking. It was all too quickly taken away once they realised the seriousness of the situation. Culver running him through how to use the walking bars, that it would be exhausting, having Stefan be his spotter just for if Roy caved. Five, nearly ten minutes past where Roy eyed the challenge in front of him.</p><p>Finally, Roy took grasp of the two bars, pulling himself to his feet with a sound of struggle. There was a shake in his arms, Stefan watched him wondering if it was forces like these that would shift tectonic plates. Maybe not the act but the <em> will </em> of it… Stefan held his breath. Seeing Roy's figure was a hell of a thing, where collar-bones casted shadows and his ribs looked caved in. He was not worn down to bone just yet, there was still lingering muscle and strength in his form. Stefan felt a strange sense of relief, that Roy would be <em> alright </em>. Maybe not back into the firefight just yet but, in time, there would be miracles. Hell, his living was just that.   </p><p>One foot forward, a shift in weight and slowly beads of sweat began to form on Roy’s brow. It took all of Stefan’s willpower to not intervene, to not loop his arm around Roy's waist and help carry himself. Instead he had to stand back with a thumb between his teeth and he nervously awaited to see how Roy would fare. Slow progress was still progress and once Roy reached four steps he was hissing desperate breaths through gritted teeth. One off center step, one misjudge in strength, and Roy went crashing to the ground.<br/>“Fucker!” He hissed from the floor where he almost immediately tried to stand back up, <br/>“Woah, take a second.” Stefan exclaimed as he took a hold of Roy’s shoulder. In anger he shrugged the younger man off, <br/>“It’s fucking bullshit, Bekowsky…” Roy was ignoring the hand Stefan was offering to help him back up, “it’s take a fucking miracle and those damn well do not exist, not in this city…” <br/><br/>Stefan searched the despair in Roy’s eyes and found less of it then he was expecting. Those walls were still built high and strong. No bullet nor shredded fingertips were to pierce the forts that Roy used to shelter himself. It struck Stefan that maybe Roy didn’t need someone to breach the walls, no, maybe he’d hear a higher power.<br/>“My mother always used to tell me that miracles were the work of Our Lady of Częstochowa… she’d say, <em> mój drogi, hold faith and do not fret. </em>She was always an optimist, a wonderful lady, much kinder than my father… I’d like to think that maybe our miracles are in the making…”</p><p>Roy spent a few too many seconds in silence, chest heaving and anger in his eyes. Until, that was, his gaze lingered over Stefan's hand. With a clenched jaw, he decided to take Stefan’s hand.<br/>"Don't fucking let go of me, yeah?"<br/><em> I wouldn't dare… </em> Stefan repressed the phrase and instead nodded as Roy's hand clasped his own,<br/>"I won't let you go, partner." <br/>It was beyond impressive, the amount of time and energy that Roy was willing to put into this one day of learning to walk once more, considering the wound. He fell, numerous times, stumbled into posts there to assist him. Roy hissed and yelled and grunted and cursed and told God that he'd better watch his back. </p><p>That was the thing about Roy that Stefan could never quite work out. A man who feared seemingly <em> nothing </em>. </p><p>It was growing dark by the time that they wrapped up, Roy’s eyes had grown heavy with exhaustion and he was asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Stefan thanked the staff and, once Roy’s breathing fell into a sleeping rhythm, his fingers unconsciously slipped from Stefan’s. Though, he felt the pressure of Roy’s grip in his hand the whole way home. Stefan paced the apartment a few times. He had hoped to relive times where Roy was not in a hospital bed, where Cole had not been swallowed by a tide, where Stefan could find pride in his work. Instead all he had was the hat on his head and the kitten sitting on the windowsill staring out into the streets. Stefan picked her up, petting her until she let out a soft purr and Stefan whispered,</p><p>"It's too dangerous out there for you, little one… it's even too dangerous for people like me…" Stefan trailed off, looking at nothing as he whispered a dawning realisation, "somehow, it's too dangerous for people like Roy… what a world to live in..."<br/><br/><br/></p><p>° ° °</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Trying my best, promise I've not forgotten about this!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Business of Wretchedness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefan's sober repression become drunk acknowledgement and Roy gets some news from the hospital.</p><p>***DISCLAIMER/TRIGGER WARNING***<br/>Chapter features a breakdown over sexual identity. <br/>Please be careful reading in the event this may be something sensitive to you.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>° ° °</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What is wrong with me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stefan screamed into the recesses of his own mind. Where there was no audience to hear his syllables, no sting of music to emphasize his question. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What is wrong with me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan's stomach was open into a pit of disdain. Sickening, churning, like machinery long since abandoned where rusty and old oil conglomerated between the mechanisms. Sure, they still turned, but in ways they maybe shouldn't. The alcohol was harsh on his tongue and even worse on its way down his throat. A strange sense of acidic pain he was craving, and it was followed by the glass worth. <br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had all started when Stefan took a seat on the couch and raised a glass, alone, to Roy's recovery. The steps he'd taken, figuratively and literally, were an inspiration. Roy Earle deserved a toast and Stefan would give him one, even if he wasn't around to concur. The next was raised to the case. The one after that was to the memory of Cole. The one after that, after that, after that, all seemed to blur. Until Stefan was raising glasses just to prove that he still could. Fingertips weak and drink in the air, he was letting his thoughts run wild. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was there in his apartment, alone besides a snoring kitten, that he finally let it all crash over him. The first tear stuck to his cheek as it rolled, heavy and real. The next one rolled further, it reached out, traveling to Stefan's jaw. He raised his glass once more and, with trembling lips whispered,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To aching for Roy Earle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked it back so quickly that it interrupted his breaking down into sobbing. Though the second it was swallowed he felt the welling of tears. Gritting his teeth did little to stop it. He hissed a breath, sharp and short. The one that followed was even shorter until he felt himself grasping for oxygen. The tears forming a stream and soaking the collar of his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an aspect to this falling that Stefan was already acquainted with. He had already been falling for a long time, now it was just under someone else's name. Since he was young he knew he was off slightly, different to most. Of all the words his father had used to describe men like him, the one that stuck in Stefan's memory was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was sick. Roy was making him sick. It was this sickness that he was falling with. Had been since the day his father found out. But that was all too painful to delve into right now.  No, his focus was Roy. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Don't fucking let go of me.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan had repressed it at the time but that one phrase had awoken something in him. His instinct had been to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wouldn't dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that was a scarier moment then he had expected. It was all too much when it happened and he pretended as if it hadn't. But there the whiskey went, reminding him of otherwise. Stefan had said that phrase long ago during a time repressed to a person eagerly forgotten. A memory he didn't dare let resurface. An ache, now coming alive in someone else. Roy was not in any way, shape or form what Stefan would expect to ache for. Where did it come from? He wondered, and when will it go</span>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He begged to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So if Stefan threw himself into the covers, pulling the pillow over his head, and thought of anything else just maybe the ache would be gone. Instead he felt the thumping of his heart. Slow, from the drinks. Quick, from the panic. His head in a painful rhythm of repressing thoughts of the blue eyed bastard and the feeling in his heart that screamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>he better damn recover</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Truth be told, Stefan’s revelation was nothing much more than Roy being less expendable than he had expected while reminding him of a ghost of his past. A ghost who passed through the pillow obscuring his head and seeped into his thoughts over and over. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He told himself, throwing the quilt and pillow to the floor as he made his way to his journal searching for answers to a secondary question. Stefan’s mind was not on the case but he was going to be sure by the time the sun rose that he would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Stefan forced himself to focus on the aching for a case closed...<br/></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Two weeks at home recovery. You can leave first thing tomorrow, Mr. Earle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy audibly huffed at Culver as if he were a judge delivering him a prison sentence. The damage to the nerve had not been what the doctors had expected and so, with relentless dedication, Roy was back up and walking. Slowly, with a limp, knee giving in to him and stumbling on occasion. But he was on his feet and he could only be smug around Culver who had since disappeared back into the crowds. It had been two days since he saw Stefan last which seemed odd. </span>
  <span>Roy felt a swell of hatred whenever he saw his new partner. Stefan bloody Bekowsky. Young, fresh faced, and worst of all, he was caring. He gave a damn. Roy couldn’t stand people who gave a damn. Amusing to think that Roy had run into gunfire so many times and yet he had been caught by a bullet while off the clock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking of the Pole seemed to have conjured him into Roy's forefront. The younger man nearly tripped into the room as his feet clearly moved slower then his mind was. <br/></span>
  <span>"Roy I've got an idea!"<br/></span>
  <span>"Is it walking respectfully through hospital corridors?" Roy grimaced, internally cursing at how Stefan's eyes were alright with the possibility of having discovered something. So much youthful innocence, it would be so quick to go. <br/></span>
  <span>"I never mean to brag but I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>onto something </span>
  </em>
  <span>here. We never had a whistleblower. Whoever shot you knew I was on the case before my transfer. A suspect or a witness. Before we realised that it was to do with the morphine business. That's how they knew the unnamed detective becoming your partner was me."<br/></span>
  <span>Roy frowned. His head wasn't entirely on right still, his body was only just catching up to him. <br/></span>
  <span>"Who could that be?"<br/></span>
  <span>"I… I don't have any real proof but… one of the bartenders rubbed me up the wrong way."<br/></span>
  <span>"Did he at least buy you a drink first?" Roy's quip was entirely ignored by the Pole. <br/></span>
  <span>"It was like he was in the business of wretchedness… when I met with Barrett, this grumbling man pushed past me. Just, I have a gut feeling about this Roy. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was working this case before the transfer." Roy contemplated it for a while. He could only remember so much about being shot. "He's a scrawny bastard, thin, wouldn't be able to hold a fight, good excuse to kill someone indirectly. The name came up in one of Peent’s deal notes recovered at his house… Handley, he’s tall, blue eyes---"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy's hearing warped out for a moment. As if he were to be at the bottom of the ocean floor. Humming and pulsating echoing an aching temple. Stefan, the machinery, the hospital all blurred out into the light of his vision. White light, ebbing into the shape of a quarter moon. Never perfect in Roy's eyes, craters and dried oceans damaging all that wonderful light stolen from the sun. It was quiet besides the pen in his hand. The trickle of water down a gutter. His own shoes on the footpath. When it rained on this side of town, the neon lights put themselves on display across the concrete path beneath pedestrians' feet. No cars were around to throw water droplets into the air. It was quiet besides the ringing gunshot. It was quiet besides his own gasp. He never saw it coming and it was when he turned that, the moon's borrowed light only just caught a glimpse of the man behind the trigger. "Redhead." Roy said and in that split second the world came flooding back into his senses. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What did you just say?"  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Locking eyes with Stefan was a moment that Roy almost jumped at. The intensity in them erased the perception of innocence Roy had seen. The Pole was taken aback. <br/></span>
  <span>"He was a redhead. The man who shot me---"<br/></span>
  <span>"Detective Bekowsky I hope you've not been pushing Detective Earle…" Culver appeared at the door making the two detectives jump. <br/></span>
  <span>"Absolutely not, Sir."<br/></span>
  <span>"Stefan? Nooooo, never. He's only ever been a blessing." Roy huffed and for the first time that day did Stefan notice how tired he really looked. <br/></span>
  <span>"Shared your good news?" Fiddling with the end of the bed, Culver shot his eyebrows up at Roy. <br/></span>
  <span>"I hadn't, no."<br/></span>
  <span>Out of the loop, Stefan didn't know what to expect. When Roy didn't say another word, Culver scoffed and told him. <br/></span>
  <span>"He's being discharged. He can go home on recovery for two weeks." <br/></span>
  <span>"Only I'm going to have to figure out how to live with this." Roy gestured vaguely towards his leg and the walking stick. That was a problem that Stefan hadn't considered yet and his problem solving brain ran quicker than his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can stay with me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span><br/>° ° °</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A short one, I know, I'd rather quality over quantity though... I'm lacking in both departments at the moment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Panopticon In One’s Own Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stefan goes following a lead, Roy finds some rules to bend.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bet the cat has missed me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were so many other things that Stefan had wished he’d been doing in this moment that </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> letting Roy back into his apartment. He could be sweeping the morgue floor or running license plates or walking his damn goldfish. Anything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but letting Roy Earle back into his home-sweet-average-at-best-apartment. Stefan snorted at the comment,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Uh huh, sure, she’s been lost without you…” Maybe Mieczysław had suddenly learnt English and heard the bickering and had, in spite, run over to Roy. There she purred as she nuzzled against his good leg, leaving Stefan irritated and bewildered. “Son of a bitch...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing his hat and jacket off, he ignored the smug chuckle that left Roy. Instead he made his way immediately to the kitchen bench where he had slaved over notes and timelines for the past few months. Mal had managed to get positive ID’s of the victims to Stefan just the day before, sure enough it was their previous suspects; Ronnie Elmer, Jo Florence, Francis Terrace, Timothy Natine. Leaving no suspects and only victims. Back to square one. Though, you wouldn’t be able to tell with Stefan hunched over the work and his partner frowning at the cat he was moving as if she were a pendulum.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Stupid thing, why does she let this happen?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>To which Stefan could only sigh, “stop ragging my cat, she’s too nice for your bullshit.”<br/></span>
  <span>"I'll stop using her as a pendulum when you break the trust of the doctor and let me do some fucking case work."<br/></span>
  <span>Stefan took a breath, sighing at both the partner he was now stuck with and the cat dangling in his hands, “how about a drink instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy’s eyes glimmered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan was an ethical man. Or he liked to think so. He would not take an injured man to do any off-hours work- of course he would not. Although he could take him for a drink. With all the chaos going on, it just so happened to have slipped Stefan’s mind that the Macambo Club had been his first place to visit in this case. It was the working place of Rhys Barrett and, more notably, Handley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan had to restrain himself from whistling as he entered the bar. The atmosphere was similar to how it had been those nights ago. The song that played through the rooms was one to frequent the radio. Stefan knew it well but, really, it didn't give off a professional manner to whistle along as he approached the bar keeper.<br/></span>
  <span>"Detective?" <br/></span>
  <span>"Rhys." Stefan tapped his fingers along the bar with the most patient smile he could muster. <br/></span>
  <span>"Can I grab you a drink?" The man asked. Blonde hair and a smile that did better work lighting the bar than the bar's cheap chandeliers. Stefan hummed,<br/></span>
  <span>"Tempted, sure. My partner here will have a scotch on the rocks."<br/></span>
  <span>Roy would deny it but there was a small smile there. <br/></span>
  <span>"Is he self medicating?" Rhys joked looking Roy's leg up and down. "I can respect that."<br/></span>
  <span>"Mmmm no, I'm finding a way to deal with my partner's pessimistic optimism, actually." Roy took the cold glass in his fingertips and shifted his weight to the bar. Stefan looked at Rhys with a casual smile, as if all was calm and collected. <br/></span>
  <span>"Perchance, could I ask when Handley is working next? That is his name, right? Skinny guy--"<br/></span>
  <span>"Redhead?" Roy grunted, looking at the bottom of his glass. Stefan caught his breath between his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhys looked like a simple man with a wedding band on his finger, making some money to put a roof over his family’s heads and food on the table. The way he reacted to the request didn’t betray that belief, if anything, it solidified it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Funnily enough I haven’t seen him.” He quickly turned to serve a customer. A regular, it must have been, he made the drink with no questions and only a smile. “Yeah he called in sick after that day and I haven’t seen him since.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan and Roy locked eyes, narrowed and curious. Roy’s held an angry flare. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Perchance do you have an address?” A simple request yet the bar-owner pressed his lips together and cocked his head. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No… no that’s not something I can just give out.” It was clear he didn’t mean poorly by them. Merely, honest and protective of his employees. Roy smacked the empty glass down on the bar hard enough for Rhys to jump, Stefan gave a side glare that begged Roy not to cause a scene.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Listen up knucklehead, my partner here is nice cop but I’m wanting-to-get-the-fuck-out-of-here cop. You give us his address and I won’t have to shake it out of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan could see goosebumps along Rhys’ arms as he suppressed a nervous shiver. Only a few people in the bar had even noticed the incident, most were still giggling into their drinks or poorly singing to Prisoner of Love. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Tough talk for a man on a walking stick.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Tough talk for a man with immediate access to something with a really powerful swing.” Roy mimicked the tone enough to make fun and correct Rhys who only swallowed harshly at the threat and took a few steps back. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sure thing, detectives.” Rhys went back on his decision, “just, stay here I’ll go get his employee details.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan's ears were hot with frustration. Although not ideal for his work, Stefan </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rhys. There were a few traits to the man that made him seem decent and honest. Stefan looked around the room in his wait and wondered about honesty. To what extent were these bar goers innocent? Friends catching up, turning to love affairs. Alcoholics breaking sobriety for just one drink. Maybe the building itself was deceiving. Stefan couldn't hear much of the rain outside above the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Illusions tended to sway perception. The job was nothing but perceptions altered and faltered. Screwed with and toyed with, played with and joked with. If he were to trust one person in this world, well, that person was already buried six feet under. So who would be next… no names sprang to mind. Was that a trait of a realist or a pessimist? A loner or an independent man? Though one name did spring up from the depths of nothingness. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Though that was less trust and more of an ache. An ache in what nature? Well, he wasn't too sure about that either. Probably concerned for his health, aching for a time where he didn't need to consider whether or not his partner would be able to walk. That ache seemed to nearly fit that which was echoing in his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though now he had thought of the name, it was stubborn to leave. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cole. Stefan</span>
  </em>
  <span> remembered the call about Cole like it was yesterday, the way hairs rose on his skin and he hung the phone up with a tremor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>---Cole Phelps has been killed in action--- </span>
  </em>
  <span>The shattering phone scattered across the carpet. Its collision course with the wall hadn't been as loud as his scream. Octaves loud enough to startle Mieczysław under the couch only to shift back out to swipe at the fragments of the phone with a little dust of broken walling. What an illusion stardom had been up until that exact moment. For his former partner to be torn from his glory and then torn from the clutches of reality. It wasn't as if Stefan hadn't suffered grief, he had, but this kind of grief had been shadowed with nothing other but illusion. There had to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Psst." <br/></span>
  <span>Stefan nearly jumped from his skin as Roy elbowed him softly. Maybe this wasn't the time to be debating such things. <br/></span>
  <span>"What!?" Stefan snapped until he looked to Roy's hand where he was offering the remnants of his drink. The Pole couldn't help the soft smile,<br/></span>
  <span>"Thanks." He took the offer and downed the rest of it in a single gulp. <br/></span>
  <span>"I know the look of a man who needs a drink."<br/></span>
  <span>Stefan flashed his eyebrows up with acknowledgement.<br/></span>
  <span>"Read me like a book there, partner."<br/></span>
  <span>Illusions or not, Rhys quickly hopped back over to them with some writing scribbled on a note that he handed to Roy. <br/></span>
  <span>"Banning Street, the apartment complex. He's number three."<br/></span>
  <span>Roy reached out and roughly slapped Rhys' shoulder with a shit-eating grin. <br/></span>
  <span>"Wasn't that hard, was it buddy?"<br/></span>
  <span>Stefan did his utmost to say sorry with his eyes as the bartender scoffed and left them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready to go, Pole? I’ve had my drink, it's about time to wrap up. This place reeks of pretend class.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Maybe Roy was onto something. In a place Stefan had seen much beauty, he was beginning to see peeling paint and blood stained carpets. A bar where passerbyers indulged in heisted morphine and kept a black market running under the nose of a man too nice to notice. Rhys had no part, that was something Stefan was almost positive about. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Sure thing Roy. We’ll drop by---” Stefan trailed off as his eye was caught by a face in the crowd, “you know what? I'll meet you in the car…"</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Be quick, leave me with your car too long and I’ll sell the shitbox and get you something worth riding in.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan only tssk’d his partner out of the bar before working up the courage to follow his direct line of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other side of the bar sat one Jack Kelso. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or… something along those lines. Roy was no enemy but only an irritance of Stefan's, so, what did that make Jack? It was nothing he had considered until this exact moment. Was this a mere illusion too? These dynamics, politics, assaults and arguments? </span>
  <span>Jack stared at his drink. The man looked tired but the kind of tired that could be hidden behind a smile. Jack didn't attempt such a feat and instead let his face rest with an expression that said functioning is suffering. Stefan was all too quick to interrupt the man's little bubble. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Kelso.” Alone and four glasses down, Jack huffed,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Un-fucking-real.” He drank the rest with swift motion before gesturing to the seat beside him, “but fucking only if your partner isn’t here.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He’s not.” The seat was cold as he took it but not as cold as the dead-eyed stare of the marine. “We last left things off… not particularly well--”<br/></span>
  <span>"I had another funeral after Phelps'." <br/></span>
  <span>He spoke from nowhere without prompt. Stefan was rushed with a wave of guilt, knowing how it felt to not be able to catch a break. <br/></span>
  <span>"I'm sorry, who was it, if I may ask?"<br/></span>
  <span>"A long time friend. Courtney Sheldon. I won’t use it as an excuse but--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“There was some snowball? Hitting Roy wasn’t all on him?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jack gestured for another drink,<br/></span>
  <span>"Oh no it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> on him. Lucky he's not here, I'd do it again."<br/></span>
  <span>Stefan wondered how that might just play out, who would he move to restrain…? The man who swung the first punch or the one who would retaliate full force? Something in Stefan's heart said it wasn't the latter. He had to consider if that made him a bad man? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Roy's not all he seems. I'm sure he's a variable in play with…" Jack didn't finish his sentence but Stefan's mind filled the blanks. There was </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> possibility that he was suggesting Roy had any involvement with Courtney, or worse, Cole. The Pole's heart put up a wall immediately. <br/></span>
  <span>"I don't know Jack, you seen hell bent on something with barely any proof? Maybe it's because Roy had protected this city better than you have."<br/></span>
  <span>The scoff that left Jack's mouth was laced with disbelief and offense. <br/></span>
  <span>"What in the fuck has gotten into you? I had you down as an honest man. Seems the corrupt drag people down with them. What is it? You admire Roy? Vice Chief top of the fucking world and you want to be him?" Jack spat at him with a smile that said Stefan had </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. The hairs on the back of Stefan's neck raised when Jack's face was overcome with a look of revelation, "oh you don't want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, no… but you do </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, somehow."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scotch spilt over the lip of the glass as Stefan put it down with a force that had the potential to shatter glass. There was no listening to such a suggestion, </span>
  <em>
    <span>none</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jack was talking nonsense, a man wrecked with grief and heartbreak drinking away his sorrows. Stefan slapped a bill down, Jack shot it a look of disgust. Stefan was angry but he was still a man of principle. <br/></span>
  <span>"Shove off, Pole. I'm sure your knight in salmon sleeves is missing your relentless ass kissing. Besides, I'm waiting for company." Jack's eyes glanced over Stefan’s shoulder to the bar where he recognized none other than Hershel Biggs ordering a drink.<br/></span>
  <span>“Two of you sat together at Cole’s funeral too.” Stefan said to the bar, not taking his eyes off the senior detective. “And I suppose I’m to believe the two of you aren’t close? Something brought you together that’s more than just business.”<br/></span>
  <span>“The death of a friend.” Jack reminded him, almost looking sick at his own words. Though… was it the memory of his death or the concept of friends? Stefan did not know. What he did know was that Hershel was just as surprised to see him. Nudging him as he passed, Stefan did not say hello nor apologize for the droplets of drink spilt as he left the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The frustration in his steps ebbed to a stop as he saw Roy leaning against his black buick. The older man staring up into the sky as smoke delicately drifted from his lips and Stefan was reminded of a narrative he did not like the reality of. Jack’s words rang through his head with a state of wonder. Do I want him, somehow? Flashes of repressed reality ran through his mind. Raising a drunken glass to his partner. The bruises on his knuckles remain from receiving the news of the shooting. Small moments and pauses in time where his chest ached in a way that he had only felt a few times before--</span>
  <em>
    <span> No</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He scolded himself.</span>
  <em>
    <span> I do not want Roy Earle… I do not.<br/></span>
  </em>
  <span>“Pole, let’s get moving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan woke up, putting his best I’m okay expression on before joining Roy in the front seat.<br/></span>
  <span>“Know where we are headed?” Roy asked, the smell of his cigarette lingering around him. Stefan looked at the embers being reduced to smoke. It was being held so delicately between Roy’s fingers and Stefan found himself staring. That ache still in his chest until he built up the courage to ask,<br/></span>
  <span>“Can I have a drag? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” With just enough beg to his voice that Roy snickered slightly. Handing it over to him, Stefan took the drag with just a little too much need. Eyelids fluttering shut and chest raising with a deep breath, wrist falling slack, he let Jack’s words settle and made home in his veins. Drop it. He told himself, whether or not he was fooling himself of reality, before the shake in his hands calmed and his brain reset onto the destination. Handley’s apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handing Roy the smoke back, Stefan cleared his throat and opened his eyes. Only startling a little when he felt Roy’s fingertips brush his own. The older man snorted a little,<br/></span>
  <span>“You look all zen, Stefan.” Roy mocked with a smirk, “gonna pull some peace-of-mind shit on me?”<br/></span>
  <span>“No.” Stefan smiled a little, looking into the crystal blues of Roy’s eyes. “I’m going to suggest we find the bastard that shot you.”<br/></span>
  <span>Roy’s eyes overcame with tones of agreement, his hand slapping Stefan’s thigh.<br/></span>
  <span>“I like the way you roll, partner.”<br/></span>
  <span>What Roy did not like as much was the music on the radio. A song Stefan was quite contently whistling too as he switched lanes and stopped at some lights. Roy would tell him just to blare the horn and floor it, to which Stefan reminded him he was glad that Roy was too injured to drive. Roy unsubtly reminded him that he could whack him with his cane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handley's apartment complex from the outside screamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>in desperate need of an upgrade</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The complex's bins all lingered near the front of the building, stacking up and sagging as if they had been left for weeks too long. Few cars lingered in the car parks, most dented and scratched. Cigarette butts lay discarded around the place. The building itself was made of red brick that so desperately needed repair and cleaning. Rain paths left lines of mould growing across the bricks. Most of which had lost their colour from exposure and old age. <br/></span>
  <span>"Hope it's not as gross inside." Stefan wished aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His wish was not granted.  </span>
</p><p><span>The inside had cheap fake make of red velvet carpets. Stained with deep markings that could be anything from blood to spilt drinks to vomit to dry rot. Aged in the fibres, most lingered a faded shade with an awfully distinct smell of decay. A little sticky note half hanging off the mail boxes said </span><em><span>4.03 Handley.</span></em> <span><br/></span><span>“Bekowsky. If this elevator doesn’t work… I swear to---” The bell rang and the doors opened. Roy cracked what might just have been a real smile. That smile was gone by the time they reached the door. Stefan nodded towards the door with a raise of his eyebrows that said </span><em><span>he’s all yours</span></em><span>. Roy lifted a clenched fist and hesitated for only a brief moment. You’d have to have slowed down time to have noticed the fault in his facade. He knocked with a force that was almost a pounding and the tense clench of his jaw did not go unnoticed by Stefan. A few painful moments. Almost like a pause in time. A sense of anticipation leading toward the opening screech of the door and the face of Handley himself experiencing a range of emotions all at once. Irritance. Confusion. Realisation. </span><em><span>Fear</span></em><span>.</span></p><p>
  <span>Roy was in a silence that Stefan could only assume was the result of being shell shocked. Meaning.. </span>
  <em>
    <span>they had their man.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm Detective Bekowsky, this is my partner Detective Earle, we are from the LAPD---" The door was slammed in his face. <br/></span>
  <span>"Kick it in, Bekowsky!" Roy ordered, tone rich in irritation that he couldn't do much. If he could, he would have kicked that door off its hinges himself. Instead the door swung open still on both its hinges, Stefan was much less intent on unnecessary damages. Roy fired two rounds Handley's way, a sound that Stefan would never really get used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man crashed to the floor at the sound of gunfire, hands over his ears. Stefan halted to a stop by the only door he could tell could lead to an escape- an outside set of stairs or a ladder. Handley froze in his path towards Stefan and before he could take a single step further, he was battered to the ground. Roy had swung out from behind, catching Handley's face with the handle end of the walking stick. Stefan </span>
  <em>
    <span>swore</span>
  </em>
  <span> he heard a crack as the man hit the floor with a thud. Checking that he wasn't going to get up, Stefan nearly jumped out of his skin as the floor rang out in loud banging sounds and the distant yell from the downstairs neighbours of, "stop making so much noise!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan tried to restrain his laugh as he circled the man on the floor. Dazed and confused, Handley groaned and lifted a hand to his bleeding face. Roy stood over the younger man, now resting most of his weight on the cane. With a tone as smooth as butter, Roy </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Down to the station, Handley, we have some questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's been a while!!!!! Still writin, still vibin</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Pack It In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finding some common ground...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Imagine this.” The taunt in Roy’s tone was enough to irritate Stefan who wasn’t even the one being interrogated. The older detective had sat himself on the table where Handley was sat with face obscured by the shadow. Eyes downcast, avoiding the towering detective. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Imagine. This.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re a low life bartender on the wrong side of town. You find yourself in the presence of morphine dealers and decide, wow, that’s a grand career path. Perfect, really, besides </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s illegal </span>
  </em>
  <span>and you’re lacking brain cells so you don't consider that... shortly, you make friends with the dealer, another bar lowlife who picks on every sad bastard in there. When you come into a standard fuck-load of morphine yourself you realise your friend is now your competition. You start picking off his clients, one by one, in hopes that his other customers will become suspicious and turn their business to you. This sound about right?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan could be marked down as impressed if he wasn’t itching to tell Roy to hop off the table. The way the narrative, mostly guesses, flowed from his tongue was wildly impressive. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Detective.” Handley sniffed, black eye not massively swollen but deep in colour, “you are grasping at straws here. It’s frankly pathetic.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, no, let me finish my narrative.” Roy smiled so sweetly that it made Stefan sick. “Maybe you got too much blood on your hands. Maybe you realised another two bodies would be maybe a bit much? So you got creative, didn’t you? Finding ways to indirectly kill two men. Once your friends, now competitors, and you erased them from your checklist of inconveniences.” Stefan couldn’t help but wonder where exactly Roy was going with this. Wherever it was, it was a long way away. The Vice detective kept talking and talking and talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, it got to the point where Stefan nearly wanted to confess to this crime himself just to shut Roy up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hours</span>
  </em>
  <span> had ticked by living and reliving different alternatives to the crime. All in which Roy took Handley’s person, the very structure of his being, and twisted him into the epitome of a coward. The details grew more gruesome, where Roy took the figurative portrait of Handley and scratched his eyes out only to drown the canvas in crimson paint. “Because you’re a sick fuck. A bastard killer. A drug peddling nutcase who couldn’t help but drag everyone else down to his level. Or below. Six feet below sounds about right--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Alright!” The yell nearly made Stefan jump. It was raw and sounded painful. The heaving in Handley’s chest suggested he was much more than just annoyed, no, he was paranoid. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> kill those people. I didn’t put them in the barrels, I didn’t make the bomb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In sync, Roy and Stefan’s eyebrows flashed upwards. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We didn’t mention any barrels.” Roy reminded him, oh-so smug.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Nor a bomb.” Stefan sat back with a smirk, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we got him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know who did. You think you arrogant bastards got it all figured out?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“The newspapers depicted Roy as awaiting a new partner. It could have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> but you… Handley, you were there in the bar when Rhys called </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> down.” Stefan was growing colder by the second, “you knew it was about Wilkes and Peent, regulars at your work. You knew it would be related to morphine peddling. So when a newspaper prints </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vice Detective Roy Earle is said to be receiving a new partner this week. Who the new detective is remains a mystery…</span>
  </em>
  <span> you knew it had to be me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You couldn’t shoot Bekowsky though, no, that would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> obvious.” Roy winked at the man fuming in his seat. “Smart one, shooting a newly appointed partner. Seems like no links, nothing. Just an attack on the LAPD. But it was a ruse, wasn’t it? Some covering smoke to get away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Handley was trembling in his seat with ignited rage. It was a give away of a guilty man.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I should have shot you in the fucking heart!!” Handley screamed suddenly, lurching himself at Roy who caught half of the impact and went crashing to the floor. Stefan jumped up, grabbing Handley by the arm and yelling for officers to assist. Two did, bursting through the door, one to help Stefan restrain Handley and the other to check on Roy. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Are you alright, partner?” Stefan asked clutching onto Handley’s arm with a force that could dislodge a bone if Handley didn’t keep still; which he wasn’t.,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Grand.” He awkwardly limped over to Handley, staring down into his eyes. “You better start telling us something </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> I think?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Handley met Roy’s eyes for a few moments too long. The sneering expression and up curled lip precursed, by very few seconds, the exact moment that Handley took a deep breath and spat on Roy’s shoes. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span><br/>No thrashing around to escape the grasp, no screaming of obscene statements or claims, only the most tense silence Stefan had ever been involved with. There were bared teeth on Roy’s part, moving closer slowly. In a split second, much too quickly to even expect, Roy did it. An instant backhand. His smoke still smouldering between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen here shitheel." Roy grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close, "we already have you for attempted murder of a cop, you might as well spill the rest."<br/></span>
  <span>Harshly, Roy shoved him back into his chair. The bitter young man twisting his face up in pain, clutching his cheekbone where the red slap print was forming, dusted with light ash. Stefan ground his teeth in frustration. |<br/></span>
  <span>"You might have me. But you don't have </span>
  <em>
    <span>them… </span>
  </em>
  <span>the people who actually did it. Now, I need my lawyer before I say another word. You'd think twice about hitting me then…"  <br/></span>
  <span>Roy laughed sarcastically, taking a long drag of his smoke as he took a seat across from Handley. Stefan feared another lash out. This man had shot him, after all. Instead, Roy slowly exhaled his smoke. Flooding over Handley's face and causing him to cough and sputter as Roy casually flickered the embers his way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure thing, Handley. We'll be right on it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snatching his cane and flinching in Handley's direction, startling the younger man in his seat, he left as Stefan followed him out of the room on Roy's heels. <br/></span>
  <span>"Where to now, Partner?" He let Stefan overtake him in the corridor and led him to Stefan's car where he, once again, continued to trash talk it. Roy must have been so caught up talking about how cowardly Handley was that he missed Stefan taking every turn that led to...<br/></span>
  <span>"Your apartment? Stefan what the fuck?!"<br/></span>
  <span>"I took you out for a drink. Nothing else. The interrogation is the last thing you should have been involved in. You have to rest."<br/></span>
  <span>Roy scoffed.<br/></span>
  <span>"I can rest when I'm dead." Stefan shot him a sharp glare, "woah okay or not. Geez Stef, touchy, are you?"<br/></span>
  <span>"Shut it. You're resting."</span>
</p><p><span>Roy scowled but knew that Stefan wouldn't budge on this. He was a stubborn man. Stubborn enough to ignore Roy's every word until they entered the apartment complex. Though he would have ignored Roy injury or not  To hit a suspect in such a way, Stefan was livid. He just didn’t know how to start such a conversation until he pressed the button for the elevator and it responded with </span><em><span>nothing</span></em><span>.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Fuck!”</span><span><br/></span><span>The stillness in the air following the moment only made Stefan more concerned as he took a sharp breath and hit the button panel.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Don’t snap your cap there, Pole.”</span><span><br/></span><span>“Fuck you.” He hissed before turning on his heel and walking up the stairs instead. Pace constant and quick, not moving for an oncoming tenant who he roughly shoved into.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Bekowsky!” Roy called after him and in the echoing stairwell Stefan sighed and turned. Waiting, patiently, for the limping man to catch up and as soon as he was around the corner Stefan raised his voice,</span><span><br/></span><span>“What the </span><em><span>fuck</span></em><span> was that </span><em><span>shit</span></em><span>?!” It took only a split second for him to keep walking.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Bekowsky, </span><em><span>what</span></em><span>?!” </span><span><br/></span><span>“You hit Handley.” He gestured his arms wildly to suggest that the source of his anger was obvious, “not only were you a complete dick but you possibly sabotaged the chance of him giving us more information.” </span><span><br/></span><span>“We </span><em><span>got</span></em><span> information.” Roy followed as quickly as his injured leg would let him. The both of them with volumes too loud for an apartment building.</span><span><br/></span><span>“Roy we are </span><em><span>partners</span></em><span>, you can’t just hit a suspect and expect me to be okay with that?! I was really impressed up until that exact point. You have to </span><em><span>talk</span></em><span> to me about our approaches in interrogation.”</span><span><br/></span><span>Before he could respond, Stefan had turned on his heel and was walking back up the stairs,</span><span><br/></span><span>“Goddamn</span> <span>Stefan, fucking booshwash!” Roy yelled after him, taking painful step after painful step. "Who cares if I hit him?! He </span><em><span>knows</span></em><span> more than he's saying and I'll do what it takes to get it."</span></p><p>
  <span>Roy rounded the corner to see the younger man struggle with his keys. A shake in his limbs out of frustration. <br/></span>
  <span>"It's less so about hitting him and more so about </span>
  <em>
    <span>communication</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> case, Roy--"<br/></span>
  <span>"Well, Eddy's case--"<br/></span>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>My</span>
  </em>
  <span> case and you were put on it after I saved your ass from Kelso who, by the way, has gone through some hard times recently---" <br/></span>
  <span>"Hard times?! No kidding, it's a hard world. What's he want us to do? Count his tears?---"<br/></span>
  <span>"This is besides the point Roy. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span> is, your communication is horrid. Taking a bullet for the case doesn't make it yours---"<br/></span>
  <span>"Christ! Give me those keys, you're like a fucking human maraca." Roy snarled as he snatched the keys from Stefan's grip. <br/></span>
  <span>"Up yours, I'm fine!" Stefan exclaimed as <br/></span>
  <span>Roy unlocked the door in a single swift motion and mockingly gestured Stefan inside. <br/></span>
  <span>"You're so far from fine." Roy muttered, barely even managing to close the door before he was thrown full force against it. His body slammed it shut and Stefan was against him in a second. <br/></span>
  <span>"You're an asshole, Earle." Stefan hissed the words, <br/></span>
  <span>"I've heard that sentence a million times, Pole." Roy's voice only somewhat strained by the arm pressing against his neck. Stefan's entire body was flush against him, holding him against the wall, hell in his eyes. Anger and something else that Roy couldn't identify.  There was still a smug undertone to his own words. And if there wasn't, well, the smirk on Roy's lips would show it. "Why does it sound so different when you say it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were so close, good lord above it was the closest Stefan had been to anyone in a while. Roy didn't feel intimidated, that was not the adrenaline rushing through his veins. <br/></span>
  <span>"Because…" Stefan didn't want to admit it. But the look in Roy's eyes, the wonder. The amazement. Stefan was hopeless against that look, "... because I don't believe it… I want to."<br/></span>
  <span>He pushed back against Roy's hold on him, jaw clenched and teeth gritted. <br/></span>
  <span>"I want to believe you're an asshole, that you're no good. I want to hate you… but for the life of me…" his eyes flickered down to Roy's lips. "I can't quit this…</span>
  <em>
    <span> I can't pack it in</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was all it took. That simple glance in that heated moment. Before Stefan had let go of the forces pinning him to the wall and had taken Roy's face in his palms. Roy pushed forward at the same time. Lips crashing in a heated moment of hateful desire. The grunts that Stefan made as Roy pushed him against the wall were unfiltered. Such a beautiful sound but it didn't compare to the whine that escaped his lips when Roy pried them open with his tongue.  Grasping desperately at the fabric of Stefan's jacket, he managed to bring himself closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smitten bastard.” Roy gruffly commented, the taste of a smoke passing between them as his eyes flickered up to the Pole’s eyes. Dazed and confused, Roy huffed his lips into a smirk as he let Stefan’s shirt go. “Can’t pack it in?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck you Earle.” Stefan’s palm was still on Roy’s left cheek, his thumb pressing at the black eye which was nearly gone, “you can pretend all you want that I don’t entice you, but I see through it. You’re not all you’re made out to be.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Say that again.” There was anger there, a threat, and Stefan was going to take that challenge full force,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You are not all that you’re made out to be.” In an instant they were back to square one only in reverse. Trapped against the wall only his back arching slightly and his eyes narrowed to read Roy’s expression best he could. “Fuck, Roy, what am I meant to be? Impressed?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’re meant to be packing it in.” Roy muttered, their noses brushing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That made more sense to Stefan.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Repressed fucking Vice detective unable to feel anything? Push everyone away out of what, fear? So cowardly for a man who seems so strong.” If Roy wasn’t already angry then that had sealed the deal. But no part of Stefan felt in any sort of danger. Roy wasn’t going to hurt him, he could see it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You need to learn when to shut your fucking mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roy took that suggestion to Stefan into his own hands. Well, he took it to his lips, it was hard for Stefan to argue through an aggressive few moments of clashing skin. Stefan felt overwhelmed by all of Roy. They had only a few centimeters difference in height and yet Roy seemed to tower over him, to surround him in shadow. The scent of him was undeniably citrus like, with hints of lavender and amber to it. He could taste the cologne on Roy’s lips past the cigarette smoke lingering on his tongue. The weight of him on Stefan was a bit much but did not compare to the dreading feeling of realising he wanted this. There was no fear, no fight in him, only instinct and a need to let Roy know he was not going to be passive in this.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I need to learn to shut my fucking mouth?!” Stefan gasped at the statement in frustration. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the one who found </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> beaten to a pulp after saying a few too many words to a dead man’s friend.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Roy bared his teeth as if in threat for a split second before swiping his tongue over his lower lip.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You say so much and it all means so little.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Fuck you.” Stefan shoved back at him. But as soon as he saw the way in which Roy reacted, he put the pieces together, “oh… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Roy… this is what you want isn’t it?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The vice detective stopped dead in his path. Chest heaving from the argument and hands slowly forming fists as Stefan began to elaborate.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I get it now. You want me to hate you as much as you hate me. But you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> hate me, do you? No, you---”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan was nearly thrown against the wall, the air torn from his lungs as if they weren’t his to begin with. Roy moved into what Stefan was to think was another kiss but, no, Stefan’s bottom lip was in the grasp of Roy’s teeth, a quick nip meant it bubbled with beads of blood. The hiss of pain was unmistakable and Roy </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> took Stefan’s lips in his own.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Don’t spill your bullshit theories, Stef. You’re not all that much of a good detective anyway.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The tension between them could be cut with a knife. Eyes locked in a standoff, as if waiting for the next unexpected move. Only for Stefan to lick the blood from his lip and Roy to let out a satisfied humm at the sight of him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’d be angry Roy, if you meant that.” Stefan’s words once again muffled by the arm against his throat. “But you don’t mean it. I know you don’t.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan was thrown from his grip as Roy backed off only slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A victory, he considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Stefan asked, watching Roy discard his jacket on the couch. His limp was still difficult to watch, although he had lost Stefan’s sympathy when he had him against the wall. A limp would be but a mere bother.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Getting a drink.” Roy said over his shoulder, “I need something strong to wash down the taste of you.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan huffed,</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> smokes.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I didn’t mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>taste.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stefan wasn’t insulted. He knew the depth of the statement. That the taste of him would be associated with Stefan's feelings towards the other detective. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No amount of whiskey will erase the fact that you take my damn breath away...”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I know.” Roy admitted, taking a seat on the window sill and rotating the glass. So much colour in such little liquid, “but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>help drown my reciprocation.”<br/></span>
  <span>Stefan’s lost his breath at that and their eye contact in the silence lasted maybe just a little too long. By the look in Roy’s pastel blues, he had only just figured it out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>° ° °</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello fellow detectives!<br/>This is a little collab between myself (Leigh/Ramsey) and Vault.<br/>Dedicated to both L.A. Noire Discord servers (originating on Tumblr/Reddit) because ya'll are golden.<br/>Updates will probably be infrequent (with life, writers block and other projects in the making) but I hope for the intervals to not be too long!<br/>Poured my pathetic heart into the start of this chapter,</p></blockquote></div></div>
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